3 




Class __Sh_Ili_ 

Book. .HSS 

Copyright N? 



COBffilGUT OEEOSffi 



PSYCHOLOGY 

OF THE 

OTHER-ONE 



AN INTRODUCTORY TEXT-BOOK 

OF 

PSYCHOLOGY 



BY 



MAX F. JV|EYER 

Professor of Experimental Psychology 
in the University of Missouri 



OInlumbta, Mx^myxxx 

THE MISSOURI BOOK COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 

1921 






Copyright, 1921 

The Missouri Book Co. 

Published February, 1921 



©C!.A617935 



Alih I J rD<il 



^ f 



^ PREFACE 

ui 

\y The present book is the result of the necessity, existing 

in some colleges and universities, of giving elementary in- 
struction in modern psychology to college students who 
are only members of the freshman class, to students who 
have never studied psychology before, to students who may 
never study it later, to students who have little knowledge 
of physics and chemistry and perhaps still less of biology, to 
students who take an elementary course in psychology in 
order to take afterwards a course in educational psychology. 
" and to students who want elementary psychology for a 
better understanding of the problems of the social sciences. 
For these classes of college students this book is written 
as a text to be elaborated by the instructor as he wishes, by 
the aid of lectures, additional reading assignments, or 
laboratory work. 

Max F. Mkye:r 
The University of Missouri 



Digitized by the Internet Archive 
in 2011 with funding from 
The Library of Congress 



http://www.archive.org/details/psychologyofothe01nneye 



CONTENTS 



Chapter Page 

1. The Other-One becomes an object of interest to us ... . 3 

2. The Other-One manifests machine-like reactions .... 28 

3. The Other-One's reactions are either concerted or local 50 

4. Concerted action presents a problem to the architect 

of the nervous system 67 

5. The Other-One appears now attentive, now absent- 
minded, now inattentive 91 

6. The Other-One varies his mode of reaction gradually 

or suddenly: He learns and wills 118 

7. How the Other-One's developed nervous functions show 

up anatomically 151 

8. The Other-One's most interesting reflexes and instinc- 
tive actions 176 

9. Space perception on the skin: A species of condensa- 
tion of the nervous functioning 216 

10. Nature enables the Other-One to perceive space at a 
distance 229 

11. Nature divides the spectrum for the Other-One's space 
perception at a distance 262 

12. Nature makes a second division of the spectrum .... 279 

13. The Other-One is equipped v^dth a sense organ particu- 
larly suited to signals 293 

14. The Other-One's talking machinery 313 

15. Rhythm: Motions grouped and thus repeated 334 

16. How the Other-One talks and writes to himself .... 354 

17. If the Other-One is born blind, or deaf, — what then? 370 



CONTENTS 

Chapter Page 

18. The Other-One walks in his sleep. Disturbances of per- 
sonality. Abnormalities 381 

19. The psychology of the Other-One and the sciences 

other than psychology 399 

20. The mysteries of the soul 409 

Questions and Problems 423 

Index 436 



PSYCHOLOGY 

OF THE 
OTHER-ONE 



CHAPTER I 

The Othkr-Oxk bi:comi:s ax Object oi^ Ixtcrkst to Us. 

Robinson Crusoe has just acquired his man Friday. 
He is naturally anxious to know what use he can make of 
his new acquisition. So he goes to the Public Library (this 
is a sort of Munchhausen tale) and selects the present book 
as the one most likely to give him the desired information 
about ^^The Other-One/^ 

In times past one used to turn to psychology books when 
he wanted to learn something about his Self — his Soul. 
There are even recently printed psychology' books which 
bear the title "The Science of Selves.'' This very title is an 
anachronism. The idea of a Self characterizes in every 
branch of science what one might call its ''prehistoric" 
period. Man tried in vain to explain the heavenly bodies, 
the weather, the land, the water, the animals and the plants 
by regarding them as Selves : Jupiter, Apollo, Neptune, and 
so forth. Modern science owes its triumphs to the fact that 
it has learned to restrict itself to describing merely that 
which one can measure. The psycholog}' of the Other-One 
follows the same road. Why should Robinson Crusoe, 
wanting information, use the antiquated, the sterile 
method ? 

Measuring means alw^ays comparing and counting — com- 
paring a thing by means of our sense organs with another 
thing w^hich we regard as our standard unit, and counting 
the number of units. Without the application of our sense 
organs there is no measuring. 

(3) 



4 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-OXE 

There is a special fact which has greatly retarded the 
advancement of the psychology of the Other-One, — the fact 
that the psychology of the Self appears so much easier, 
so much more promising. 

Robinson Crusoe, when asked, tells us eagerly that he 
knows perfectly that he has a Self, a Soul. He adds that 
he knows this Soul, this mind, this Consciousness (we 
capitalize in order to show our proper respect) much better 
and also with even greater certainty ("Cogito, ergo sum," 
said Descartes two centuries ago) than any of the things of 
the world. The latter he does not know so directly, but 
merely indirectly, thru mediation of his sense organs. But 
for exactly this reason it seems useless to try to teach him 
anything about what he knows so well, his Self. On the 
other hand, he admits that he knows his man Friday only 
by applying his sense organs to Friday ; that zvithout apply- 
ing his sense organs he would not knozv that his man Friday 
existed. 

Therefore Crusoe's desire to know as much more as 
possible about his man Friday cannot be satisfied by the 
psychology of Selves. He needs the psycholog}^ of the 
Other-One. He needs the psychology which applies sense 
organs to the object of study, compares w^hat the sense 
organs perceive, counts and — leaves the question whether 
Friday has a Self, a Soul, a Mind, a Consciousness to the 
single being whom it might concern, to Friday. 

It is customary that in such a critical case the Devil is 
also present. (He always tries, as is well known, to em- 
barrass people if he has a chance.) He is present on the 
Island clothed as a missionary. He approaches Crusoe with 
this impertinent question: ''Are you going to deny, by 
selecting this book on the psychology of the Other-One, 
that your man Friday has a soul, precious and immortal?" 



SELVES AND SOULS . O 

Crusoe replies : ''If I were a missionary and interested chiefly 
in the saving of a soul, the question, whether he has one or 
not, would be of the greatest importance to me. But I merely 
desire to know what use I can make of him benefiting me 
and also benefiting him so far as I can know thru my sense 
organs what may be good for both of us. This I may be 
able to learn from the psychology of the Other-One. Your 
question is irrelevant. 

The Devil changes his clothes and reappears as a philos- 
opher. "Crusoe," he says, ''don't you admit that one can draw 
conclusions relative to things he has never seen?" — "Him- 
self," shouts Crusoe, as the Devil has barely finished his 
sentence. "You left out the word himself at the end of 
your question. What others have seen, may take the place 
of what I have not seen myself, because it is inconvenient 
to look at many things myself. But this does not change 
the fact that my interest in Friday is restricted to what my 
or other sense organs reveal. Without any sense organs 
existing in this world, nobody would conclude that this man 
Friday existed and add his existence to the stock of scientific 
knowledge." — "It is true, then, what has been rumored," 
continues the Devil, "that you take no interest in your man's 
spiritual welfare, that you are irreligious, and that you 
have driven the missionary from this Island?" — "What a 
defamation!" replies Crusoe indignantly. "What is true is 
merely that I refuse to mix up my scientific interest with 
my endeavors in religion, poetry and art." 

Before entering into a detailed study of the Other-One, 
Crusoe thinks i, advisable to trace in bold outlines the 
various roads over which he has to travel in reading his 
book. Let us, he says, compare the Other-One with animals, 
plants, manufactured engines. Watching him only a few 
weeks or even only days, we convince ourselves that his 



6 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

chief distinction consists in bein^, not manufactured of 
virtually changeless materials, as an engine is, but a product 
of growth, and that he continues to grow in many respects. 

With plants the Other-One has growth in common. But 
the differences are immense. First let us note his much 
greater motihty. We can use the term activity instead of 
motility and then speak of his greater activity. Concern- 
ing his activity, however, there is a distinction which is not 
merely one of more or less. The activity of a plant is, so 
to speak, stereotyped. A certain plant closes its petals 
whenever is is placed in the shade. The Other-One's 
action — like the actions of virtually all animals — may for 
some time appear to us to be stereotyped, too. But sud- 
denly we observe that an unexpected and novel action 
occurs. For example, Crusoe gives Friday a piece of meat 
and finds that he puts this in his mouth and swallows it, 
gives him a piece of bread and finds that he puts it in his 
mouth and swallows it. He gives him a piece of chocolate 
and finds that he puts this in his mouths and swallows it, 
too. He gives him a piece of chewing tobacco and finds that 
Friday puts it in his mouth and spits it out. But Crusoe 
remembers that, when he gave his uncle a piece of chewing 
tobacco, this Other-One kept it in his mouth for a long 
time. Generally speaking, the Other-One seems to be 
capricious, willful. 

Comparing the Other-One with animals, Crusoe dis- 
covers that Friday often, especially before performing some 
important action, talks to himself ; and that sometimes he 
also makes curious signs in the sand, and that this talking 
and writing seems to have a great influence on what the 
particular kind of action is which follows. For example, 
he finds him doing this before he chooses a particular kind 
of material and a particular spot on the Island for the con- 



EI^GINES; PLANTS^ ANIMALS 7 

struction of a shelter. The Other-One's actions, far from 
being directly in response to the surrounding things, are 
often — indeed usually — mediated by a self-created, that is, 
invented, set of symbols. Some call these symbols 
''thought;" some call them more objectively ''language." 
Comparing the Other-One with animals, we can say then 
that he is thoughtful. 

Recapitulating: The Other-One is more a product of 
growth than this can be said of an engine or its parts, and 
has growth in common with plants. The Other-One differs 
from plants thru his willfulness, his variabiHty of action, 
which he has in common with animals. The Other-One 
differs from animals by his thoughtfulness, the mediation 
of many or most of his actions by symbols, which makes 
him the lord of the Earth. 

For the reasons which follow one may speak of a hier- 
archy of these three functions : thoughtfulness, the highest ; 
willfulness, lower ; growth, the lowest. And one is then 
justified in calling the Other-One the highest creature in 
the universe, an animal a creature less high, a plant a lower 
creature, an engine still lower. 

Thoughtfulness is not possible without willfulness, for 
the invention of arbitrary symbols naturally is a function 
of willfulness, is a kind of variation of a being's reaction 
to its surroundings. A stereotyped reaction could not be 
called an invention. And willfulness does not seem possible 
to any considerable extent without growth, for the vari- 
ability of action is — altho not absolutely, since an engine, 
too, may surprise us ; at least in a growing thing, in a prod- 
uct of growth — dependent on growth.. Nobody who has 
the slighest experience with human and animal willfulness 
denies that it is the result of a kind of growth, both in the 
race and in the individual. Robinson Crusoe, in order to 



8 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-OXE 

know all he can about his man Friday, will ask us two 
questions. I. What part of his body is it on whose growth 
first his willfulness, later his thoughtfulness, depends? 
II. What are the peculiarities of the growth of that part 
of his body? 

A popular answer to the first question would be — the 
brain. A better. answer would be — the neural, or nervous, 
tissue. The brain is simply a conspicuous lump of nervous 
tissue, but not all of it. In its totality we customarily call 
the nervous tissue ''the nervous system." The answer to 
the second question cannot be given briefly. We shall have 
to proceed for it thru many chapters of this book. 

On reading the last paragraph it occurs to Robinson Cru- 
soe to ask himself if he did not make a mistake in selecting 
this book. Are there not many other kinds of books which 
give information, and perhaps better information, on the 
nature, the Hfe, of the Other-One? Physiology, anatomy, 
sociology, economics and other sciences which we meet in 
any university catalog are also concerned with the Other- 
One's life. Does this book on psychology, when it applies 
itself to the study of the Other-One's life, encroach upon 
these other sciences ? — No ! There is undoubtedly some, 
but no more, overlapping between psychology and these 
other sciences than there is between many other two sciences 
picked out of the catalog. 

What sufficiently divides the problems of the psychologist 
from those of the physiologist or anatomist is the greater 
social or individual significance of their problems. A 
stomach ache or a deformed bone are undoubtedly problems 
of the Other-One's life; but they concern chiefly him, who 
has them. If you pass this man or woman on the street, it 
makes little difference to you whether he suffers from the 
ache or not, whether she limps or not. These scientific 



OTHER SCIE:N^CES \) 

problems of ihe Other-One's life, as problems of mainly 
individual concern, are problems of the physiologist, who 
studies digestion, of the anatomist, who studies the structure 
of the bones. On the other hand, a man whose ''hfe" at 
this moment consists in striking with his fist another man's 
face, is a problem which concerns you immensely, even if 
you are a mere bystander, but still more if you are the one 
whose face is afflicted. The peculiar muscular contractions 
in the fighter's arm and body in general, being of social 
rather than of individual significance — the lone Robinson 
Crusoe on his island in the past could not fight — are a 
problem of the psychologist. 

Having thus drawn a line between the problems of the 
physiologist and those of the psychologist which is quite 
sharp enough for all practical purposes of departmental 
organization in our scientific institutions of teaching and 
research, we find it no more difficult to draw a line between 
psychology and those other sciences of the Other-One's life 
whose problems are also characterized by their social sig- 
nificance. Psycholog}^ is not concerned with special social 
institutions — the other, the special social sciences, are exact- 
ly thus concerned. Marriage, for example, is a social in- 
stitution quite dififerently specialized in different parts of 
the world. The sociologist studies the different forms of 
this relation of the sexes as it appears among Americans, 
Turks, Chinamen, Hottentots and so forth. The psycholo- 
gist is interested in marriage only to the extent to which its 
features are common to the Americans, the Hottentots and 
all the other human beings on earth. The psychologist is 
interested only in the fundamental laws of the Other-One's 
life, not in the special forms which these laws take when 
applied to particular historical, geographical or ethnological 
conditions. Like marriage, punishment of crime is a social 



.10 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

institution and as such an important object of interest to the 
sociologist. The psychologist studies this problem of pun- 
ishment of human beings by other human beings only in its 
fundamental aspects, in those aspects which are the same 
in every human being no matter in what country and in 
what historical period that being lives. The psychologist 
will hardly oflfer advice to the x\merican nation today as to 
how it should reform its penal institutions. That is the 
sociologist's business. Another immensely important group 
of social institutions are the schools. The special problems, 
however, of the age at which a child should be sent to school, 
what subject should be taught first, what later, are problems 
which the psychologist gladly and without any feeling of 
jealousy leaves to educational science. Let the educator de- 
cide how children should be guided to grow into citizenship, 
the psychologist linds problems enough, of a more funda- 
m^ental nature, concerning the general possibility of chang- 
ing the raw^ material, so to speak, of the Other-One as pro- 
duced by heredity into a creatvu'e properly adapted to any 
environment for which Nature neglected to make — could 
not make — satisfactory provision by heredity. What the 
psychologist studies is the general possibility of adaptation 
to any form of environment, no matter what it might be, 
leaving out of consideration all those historically conditioned 
needs which are the very crux of the problems of the 
educational scientist. Political science, to give one more ex- 
ample, is interested in government. This is another social 
institution of specialized kind. The psychologist gladly 
leaves the study of government to political science. 

Robinson Crusoe thus convinces himself that p^chology 
is the study of human life in a material sense, that is, the 
study of the life of the Other-One,— ^but of his life in so far 
as it is of social significance rather than as it is of sig- 



LOCOMOTION" 11 

nificance for himself, and only in so far as life, in its 
social aspects, is the life common to all his brothers on earth. 
Thus is excluded from the province of this study the Other- 
One's Hfe as it shapes itself under special social institutions. 

If we call psychology a Natural Science, it is the study 
merely of the nature of ''the Other-One in relation to us.'' 
And if we call psychology a Social Science, it is the funda- 
mental social science. The social sciences in the common use 
of this term must then be regarded more properly as the 
''special" or "applied" social sciences. 

Looking now at the Other-One, at animals, and at plants 
(all three the product of growth) from the psychologist's 
point of view as we have just come to understand it, we can 
not help being struck by the fact that plants are distinctly 
unsocial, animals distinctly social beings. We hardly think 
of "The Lonesome Pine" of the Kentucky mountain trail 
as being an abnormally living specimen of its kind, but we- 
cannot think of the lonesome Robinson Crusoe on his island 
as living a normal life. Animals mix because they, move. 
Locomotion is their most characteristic form of behavior. 
Exceptions to this rule, of plants being stationary and ani- 
mals locomotive, strike us so forcibly by reason of their 
being distinctly exceptions. And even such cases are excep- 
tions usually only during a part of their lives, such as the 
oyster which indeed moves about during the early part of its 
life and settles down to a hermit's life only when older. 
The relative necessity of locomotion for animals, the lack 
of this necessity for plants is clearly connected with the fact 
that only the plants can stretch out their roots and limbs, the 
organs thru which they obtain food, more and more the 
longer they live. So far as their limbs are concerned, this 
means no more than an enlargement of the receptive sur- 
face exposed to the air and the light. But the growth of the 



12 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

roots means more than an enlargement of the receptive sur- 
face. The motion of the soil liquid thru the capillaries of 
the soil is immensely restricted in comparsion with the 
motion of the air. There would be an approach to exhaus- 
tion of the nutritive elements of the soil needed by the roots 
if the roots did not penetrate into ever new portions of the 
soil, where the possibility of exhaustion is yet far removed. 
The animal, however, not having roots, must move bodily 
to another place when it has consumed all the food obtain- 
able at its present locality. 

So we can say that Nature must have endowed, and has 
endowed, animals with the means of locomotion. The animal 
moves on when for some time no food has been taken into 
the digestive cavity, there being no more food available. 
Let us not say that the animal moves because it is hungry. 
We are trying to get information about the Other-One and 
about everything material (animals, plants, engines and 
what not) to which he might be compared and thereby be- 
come clearer to us. Now, we do not say that a plant ex- 
tends its roots because it is hungry. There is no need for 
saying this with reference to an animal either. And no 
need even with respect to the Other-One. Nothing is gained 
thereby, unless anyone thinks that something is gained, for 
example, in an analogous case by speaking of the sea as the 
hungry Neptune. Nothing becomes clearer. The animal 
moves because for some time no food has been taken into 
the digestive cavity. This is clear enough. Nature's pur- 
pose in the motion is to remove the animal from the place 
where there is no food to other places where there may be 
food. 

This purpose can be served most efficiently if the loco- 
motion is motion in a straight line, for motion in curves, in 
serpentines, in zig-zag lines would not bring the animal so 



LOCOMOTIOI^ 13 

quickly, with so little expenditure of energy of the living 
body, from the first place to a second place removed from 
the first possibly a considerable distance. The act of loco- 
motion, therefore, a form of behavior called forth by the 
stimulus of lack of food, is locomotion in a straight line. 
We must not regard it as astonishing that the stimulus 
should be something negative, the lack of something. When 
I turn to my neighbor, hand him the newspaper and ask him 
to read the head lines, I expect him, too, to respond to some- 
thing negatis^e. And I find that he can do it, can respond 
to the black letters. What we call black is physically the 
absence of light. Responding to lack of food is therefore 
no exceptional case. The details of physiological mechanics 
bringing about motion in a straight line when this stimulus 
acts on the animal, do not concern the psychologist especi- 
ally. They may be studied in a suitable zoological text- 
book. All that we have to emphasize here is the fact that 
Nature has made animals so that lack of food, acting as a 
stimulus, brings about as a response to that stimulus .. 
locomotion in a straight line. This locomotion in (gen- 
erally) a straight line is the most fundamental kind of 
animal behavior, universally applicable from the lowest 
species to the highest of the animal kingdom, to Man. We 
want to, remember it as the most fundamental form of be- 
havior. Gradually we shall add to it an ever increasing list 
of further forms of behavior serving the ever growing needs 
of the organism in its evolution. 

Having introduced in the last paragraph the concept of 
a ''stimulus," we must have a clear conception of what is 
meant thereby. There are many different kinds of things 
of a physical or chemical nature which may act on the body 
in such a manner that a chemical change results in the body ; 
and anything that is capable of doing this may be called a 



14 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

stimulus. A candle which illuminates, a violin which 
sounds, a brick which presses on the skin, influences of al) 
kinds capable of mechanically or chemically tearing, dis- 
solving the living tissue, such as cutting knives, tearing 
saw blades, burning acids, also volatile substances like cam- 
phor, cheese, perfume, substances soluble in our mouth like 
sugar, salt, alum, temperatures of a substance (gaseous, 
liquid or solid) in contact with the body which are higher 
than the temperatures of the body tissues, temperatures 
which are lower than the temperatures of the- body tissues, 
even electrical currents and the increase or decrease of an 
electrical current, these and many other substances or con- 
ditions of substances may be called stimuli when they have 
a chance to bring about in the body of an animal or a plant 
a chemical change. It is evident that the meaning of the 
word stimulus is far extended over its original meaning 
which is that of a pointed stick used by the ancient Romans 
(and still used by the inhabitants of certain countries) to 
drive their draft animals, their oxen. 

We have also introduced the concept of a ''response." 
The response is the effect of a stimulus, but not its direct 
effect. The direct effect of the stimulus is the chemical 
change, a change of the usual chemical constitution of the 
tissue affected into another and less usual one. This change 
we shall always in this book call the ''excitation." 

The excitation in turn calls forth what we shall name the 
"response." There are two chief kinds of responses. In 
contractile tissue, in muscles, contraction may occur ; and in 
secretory tissue, in glands, secretion. The latter is of con- 
siderably less interest to the psychologist than the former, 
because of its limited social significance. Of still less in- 
terest, for the same reason, are such rarer forms of animal 
responsiveness as the electric strokes of animals like the 



STIMULUS AND EXCITATION 15 

electric eel or the ray. Let us remember, then, that nearly 
always for us the effect of a stimulus is an excitation and 
the effect of this in turn is contraction. Whenever we 
choose to speak only of stimulus and response, we omit the 
intermediate link, the excitation. We may, of course, leave 
it unmentioned where it is unnecessary to mention it, but 
we must not forget that without the excitation the stimulus, 
directly, does not produce any response. 

In the usage of language we often substitute, for brevity's 
sake, a simple noun for a whole sentence. In order to refer 
by a simple noun to the fact ''that living tissues are capable 
of undergoing a rapid and pronounced chemical change 
when acted upon by a stimulus," we shall in this book use 
the abstract term ''sensitivity.'' The corresponding ad- 
jective is sensitive. 

In higher animals we find differentiated sensitive tissue. 
The meaning of "differentiated" is easily understood. In 
the very lowest animals every part of the body has the same 
properties as every other. Every part is equally sensitive, 
tor example. In the higher animals, however, certain parts 
of the body are so much more sensitive than others that we 
give them the special name of sensitive tissue. Let us 
illustrate the distinction. Sunlight falling upon our hand 
produces there very little effect, and even this only very 
slowly. It takes days or weeks before we can notice that 
the skin darkens. The skin is very slightly sensitive to 
light. The same light falling upon the retina of the eye for 
only a hundredth of a second produces there a profound 
chemical change. When a part of the body has assumed 
one among the properties which all living tissues possess, 
for example sensitivity, to such a degree that we almost 
forget that it has those other properties too, altho but 
weakly, we say that it has become differentiated. 



16 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHEE-ONE 

That we call the body material "tissue" is due to the 
purely fortuitous fact that, when living bodies were first 
examined under the microscope, they seemed somewhat to 
resemble ''woven material," the meaning of the French 
word tissue. 

The changing of undifferentiated tissue into sensitive 
tissue is naturally only one of several forms of differentia- 
tion. Among those properties of the undifferentiated tissue 
which especially interest us we find, in addition to sensi- 
tivity, contractility and conductivity. 

All tissues are contractile, but only when they are so 
differentiated that they possess a high degree of .contractility 
are they called contractile. 

All tissues are capable of conducting an excitation from 
a point anywhere within the tissue thruout the whole tissue ; 
but only when there is a high degree of conductivity (or, 
using a physical term that means the same, a ''low" degree 
of "resistance" to the flow of the excitation) is the name 
"conductive" applied. One must not think of conductivity, 
in this chemical sense, as something mysterious. We may 
well think of it as something comparable to the conduction 
of a drop of syrup, of sugar, thruout the contents of a 
tumbler of water or of tea. We have all seen the sugar, in 
such a case, spread thru the water like a cloud. 

What would you ask for if sent to a butcher shop in 
order to bring home samples of sensitive, of contractile and 
of conductive tissue?^ — You might ask for an eye ball or a 
piece of the skin of the tongue in order to have sensitive 
tissue. Not the whole eye ball is differentiated sensitive 
tissue, of course. But the inner lining of the back wall, the 
retina, is tissue extremely sensitive to light. The taste buds 
on the tongue, further, are very sensitive to certain chemical 
substances, like sugar, salt, quinine, w^hen these are placed 



SENSITIVITY^ COI^DUCTIVITY, COl^TKACTTLITY 1/ 

upon them in solution. Differentiation, after having sep- 
arated sensitive from other tissues, proceeds and separates 
tissue sensitive to Hght from that sensitive to chemical 
solutions, to sound, to warmth, to cold, and so forth. 

When asking the butcher for a sample of contractile tissue 
you would cimply ask for meat. Our muscles are our dif- 
ferentiated contractile tissue. When asking for conductive 
tissue, you would ask for brains. All the nervous tissue of an 
animal is differentiated conductive tissue; but the only 
nervous tissue which the butcher has handy for you, is the 
bulky mass of nervous tissue contained in the cranial cavity. 
Elsewhere in the body it appears only in small pieces not 
easily handled for commercial purposes. 

We have previously warned against using such phrases 
as hungry in the explanation of an animal's behavior. We 
have before-hand decided to reject all terms that have a sub- 
jective meaning, that refer to consciousness. We are study- 
ing the Other-One in preference to Our-Selves. For the same 
reason we avoid here, in speaking of sense organs (that is, 
sensitive organs), the use of the term sensations. It is far 
better to use the term excitations, which has no subjective 
meaning. Speaking later in detail of the functions of the 
several senses, again it will not be advisable to speak of such 
sensations as green, red, and so on. It is much clearer to 
use the unambiguous and purely objective term and speak 
of the specific excitation green, and so on. 

In animals made up of differentiated tissues the excitation 
obviously cannot serve its purpose, of causing contraction 
in contractile tissue, without first being conducted from the 
sensitive tissue, where it originated in consequence of stimu- 
lation, to the contractile tissue that is to act, by contracting, 
as a motor of the body. It is only to be expected, then, that 
the elements or neurons (the "cells" in the strictest terminol- 



.18 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHEE-ONE 

ogy of biology, not in the loose sense in which biology still 
speaks of a ''nerve ceir\) making up the conducting organ, 
the nervous system, should appear in the shape of long ana 
thin threads, microscopical, but of proportions comparable 
to those of telephone wires. The reason why they should 
have this shape are exactly the same, too evident to require 
enumeration, which give this shape to the conductors of a 
telephone or telegraph system. 

These conducting threads, strings, fibers, or whatever we 
call them, of the living body, under the microscope reveal 
to the eye several additional features. We shall discuss 
them here, not so much because the psychologist must under 
any and all circumstances know them, but rather because- 
the present beginner in psychology ought to be warned 
against believing that the knowledge of these additional 
details of the structure of neurons constitutes for him an 
important part of psychological knowledge. 

Of great importance for the psychologist is a clear under- 
standing of the principles ("specifications," so to speak) 
underlying the architectural plan in accordance with which 
the nervous system must have been built up by the Creator 
out of the building material. The neurons are this building 
material. These functional principles conditioning the archi- 
tectural design will be discussed and often referred to in the 
following chapters of the book because of their great 
psychological significance. 

As a matter of fact, at the present time, the details of 
the building material itself, the mere structural details of 
individual neurons given in this introductory chapter, do not 
contribute anything essential tp our (present) understand- 
ing of psychological problems, altho it is possible that new 
discoveries in the future may allow them to play such a role. 

The smallest structural elements of which both animal and 



neuiio:n^s 19 

vegetable organisms consist have for about a century been 
called ''cells." This means literally boxes — we have a box 
under our house which we call a cellar. The name appears 
less strange to us on knowing that those structural elemen:s 
which were first discovered by means of the microscope 
happened to look like little boxes. These were. plant cells. 
It was, of course, soon found that not all vegetable elements 
of structure are box-like. Some, for example the long and 
thin flax fibers used for the manufacture of linen, do not 
resemble a box. But the name cell had already been adopted 
by the biologists as a general name for elements of structure 
and was now applied also to those elements to which it was 
not applicable in its literal meaning. It was equally applied 
to the elements of structure in the vegetable and animal 
kingdom, and the whole growing, living, world was — and 
is — said by the biologists to consist of cells. Accordingly 
the strings, which serve as conductors for excitations in the 
bodies of higher animals, ought to be called cells, too — per- 
haps nerve cells for the sake of distinguishing them from 
other kinds of cells. Such, however, is not the case. The 
term nerve cell has come to mean, unfortunately, something 
different. We shall at once see what and why. 

In its most undeveloped form an individual unit of ner- 
vous tissue is a sm.all, almost spherical body (compare fig- 
ure, at a). As this body grows it becomes pointed in one or 
more places and sends out a string-like prolongation, which 
continues to increase in length (figure, at b, c and d), bO 
that it may become easily a hundred thousand times as long 
as it is thick, reaching a total length of several feet, whereas 
its thickness is always microscopical. The original little ball 
from, which the string grew out, continues then to exist as 
a relatively thick swelling of the string. We must remem- 
ber, however, that it only looks thus, that it did not originate 



20 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHEK-ONE 

as a swelling of the string. Being relatively bulky, it is 
not difficult to understand that this thickened part of the 
string should have attracted the interest of investigators be- 
fore the exceedingly fine string. When it was first the 



GROWTH OF A NEURON. 



object of biological research, its belonging, as a part, to the 
long and fine fiber was quite overlooked. It was studied as 
an individual thing, and the name cell, generally applied to 
the elements of biological structure, was applied, instead of 
to the whole fiber with its swelling, to the swelling alone, 
which was called a nerve cell. So the inconsistent use of 
the word cell in its application to nervous tissue, referred 
to above, came about and is still almost universal. 

Since about 1890 a new, unambiguous terminology has 
come into use, which we adopt. We call the whole structure, 
the fiber with its swelling, a neuron, the fiber without its 
swelling simply fiber or string, and the swelling alone a 
ganglion cell. Ganglion cell and nerve cell mean the same. 

The use of the word ganglion cell is explained thus : In 
nervous tissues gray looking masses are frequent which, 
on microscopical examination, reveal themselves as ac- 
cumulations of swellings carrying with them, naturally, the 
contiguous pieces of their fibers. It is as if we had a large 
number of ropes each having a knot somewhere and had 



NEURONS 



21 



taken all these knots in one of our hands. Such a mass of 
nervous tissue has long been, called a ganglion." Now, it is 
a peculiar biological fact that these swellings of neurons are 
not found simply here and there in isolation, but that they 
are always found in groups, sometimes not very large, 
sometimes very bulky — these very ganglions. Since the 
swellings of the nein*ons are found only in ganglions, they 
have been given the name of ganglion cells in addition to the 
name of nerve cells. 

Many are the forms in which the neurons present them- 
selves. Our next figure shows an assortment of them. The 




^--^ 



TYPES OF NEURONS. 



swelling may be at one of the ends as in the case of a and 
c of the figure, or away from either end as in the case of b, 
d, and e. The long fiber may split into two fibers as in c, 
or even into more. The swelling may happen to occur just at 
the point of division of the string. In this case the neuron 
looks like d. The string may in its course turn sideways, 
form a kind of loop, and continue from the turning point 
in the original direction. If now the swelling happens to 
be at the place of the loop, the neuron must look like c. 
In all these varieties of form we find the same structure, a 



22 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-OXE 

string with a swelling. Some years ago, when the interest 
of the histologists was still in the main restricted to the 
ganglion cell, various kinds of such cells used to be dis- 
tinguished according to the number of long fibers which 
they appeared to send out, and called unipolar (a), bipolar 
(b) and multipolar (d) cells. Since the ganglion cell has 
ceased to be regarded as an element of structure in the 
earlier sense, these distinctions and names have practically 
lost their significance. The neuron is essentially a string 
capable of conducting an excitation from one end to the 
other. All its structural and functional properties are neces- 
sarilv subservient to this end, to conduction. 

Certain features of the neurons, which have not yet been 
shown in our figures, should still be mentioned. We said 




COLLATERALS. 



that the long fibers sometimes split into two fibers. Another 
breaking up of a fiber may occur in a manner similar to the 
way in which a river takes up large tributaries, forming 
approximately right angles. Such tributaries of a neuron 
are called collaterals. 

Still another feature of the neurons is to be mentioned. 
Each ending of a nervous string looks somewhat like the 
frayed-out end of a thread. The end breaks up into a large 
number of relatively ' ort branches, the so-called terminal 
arborization (in the figure of a ganglion cell at a). In case 
the swelling of the neuron happens to be located at one of 



NEURON^S 23 

the ends of a neuron, these small branches must naturally 
come out of the swelling itself. This end brush directly pro- 
ceeding from the swelling is said to consist of dendrites, 
which is a Greek name meaning about the same as the Latin 




GANGLION CELL. 



name terminal arborization, that is, tree-like branchings. In 
the figure of a ganglion cell a neuron is represented whose 
main fiber is relatively short, almost shorter than the den- 
drites. This shortness, however, is not the rule, but rather 
the exception. The main fiber, often also called axis cylinder, 
usually greatly exceeds the dendrites in length. 

There is frequently a difference in coloring between the 
parts of a neuron. The ganglion cell looks dark, the fibers 
lighter. This has given rise to the distinction of white and 
gray matter in the brain — gray matter taking its name from 
the presence of numerous dark ganglion cells among the 
fibers. In the brain there seems to be a peculiar advan- 
tage — not yet perfectly understood — in having the gray 
matter spread out over the surface, the cortex, in as thin a 
layer as possible. To this end the surface is much increased 
by the formation of large folds, separated hj deep fissures, 
as seen in the figure of the frontal section of the right cere- 
bral hemisphere. The surface of the brain is estimated to 
be equal to a square with a side eighteen inches long With- 



24 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 



out the fissures the surface would be only about one-third 
of this. The mixture of ganglion cells and fibers making 
up the gray matter is illustrated by the three figures show- 




FRONTAL SECTION OF THE RIGHT 
CEREBRAL HEMISPHERE. 



ing in microscopical enlargement sections of the cerebral 
cortex, stained either so that only the ganglion cells are 
visible or so that only the fibers are visible. Actually both 
are present in the same piece of gray matter. The popular 
idea that the gray matter is of greater importance than the 
white matter, is of course a superstition. 

The ganglion cells have a delicate interior structure, and 
even the fibers are not simple, but possess an interior struc- 
ture, so that they may be said to consist of fibrils. About 
the functional significance of these inner divisions of a 
neuron too little is at present definitely known. 

The question as to the function of the ganglion cell and 
the function of the fibrous parts of the neuron is answered 



NEUKONS 



25 



at present in a manner very different from that which vvas 
customary fifty years ago. It was then often asserted that 



iti^ - t i.[\ ''\ 




m 

if 




SECTIONS OF THE CEREBRAL CORTEX. 
Ganglion cells stained. Fibers alone stained. 



the ganghon cells were the residences of ideas, each little 
box the seat of one idea, so that the total mental capacity 



26 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

of a person might be determined by counting the number of 
his ganghon cells. Men of science nowadays recognize that 
an idea, something subjective, spiritual, mental, cannot be 
said to be seated anywhere. The ganglion cells do not have 
any more direct and more important relation to the Other- 
One's life than that of the conducting strings. On the con- 
trary, we shall in the following chapters see that we can 
fairly well understand the Other-One's life without making 
any reference to his ganglion cells. Their physiological 
significance is probably, in the main, only of the following 
two-fold kind. 

The ganglion cell is the point of vegetation in the neuron, 
so to speak, from w^hich all growth proceeds ; and it is the 
storehouse from which the neuron in any emergency can 
quickly draw the means of subsistence. Let us elaborate 
this statement. 

We have seen that the whole string of a neuron grows 
from a little sphere. This sphere continues to exist even 
after the neuron with all its ramifications has obtained its 
full development, and is then the ganglion cell of the neuron. 
If growth is necessary later, say, because a branch of the 
neuron has been cut off or otherwise destroyed, new growth 
proceeds from that point of the string which is farthest 
from, but still connected with, the ganglion cell. — On the 
other hand, if a conducting string is continually used for 
hours, changes in the appearance of its ganglion cell occur 
which probably indicate changes of a chemical nature, called 
by the physiologists signs of fatigue. It seems that the string, 
in order to serve continuously for a long time as conductor 
of an excitation, needs to be resupplied with certain chemi- 
cals, and that these chemicals are kept in store for the 
string within the ganglion cell, which, because of its size, 
is less quickly exhausted than the string. Whether the 



NEURONS 27 

ganglion cell has any significance in addition to those func- 
tions which have just been mentioned, seems doubtful. 

Let us recall, now, what we said to be the most funda- 
mental of the many diverse forms of animal behavior. Every 
animal, we said, is by Nature so made that lack of food, 
acting as a stimulus, brings about as a response locomotion 
in a straight line. We have to add to this behavior, a second 
form, which is of equally fundamental importance. An 
animal, in its forward march, is likely to meet an obstacle, 
for instance, a piece of rock, or a tree, or whatever may be 
heavy enough so that the weight of the animal would not 
suffice to push it aside. Unless the animal had a locomotor 
ability beyond that of moving in a straight line, such an 
obstacle would forever stop it, would cause its early death 
by starvation. 

Nature therefore has given every animal a second form of 
behavior, that of avoiding the obstacle by changing its own 
position, its direction, in front of an obstacle, so that, when 
further proceeding in a straight line, it would leave the 
opposing object at the side of its path. It is decidedly worth 
while to study in detail a very simple mechanism capable 
of changing the direction of an animal in front of an ob- 
stacle, because we learn thus how exceedingly simple such 
a mechanism may be, and how unwarranted would be 
assumptions of mysterious properties of animals, of 'Vital 
forces" and the hke, assumptions toward which we are all 
too inclined because of the poetical rather than scientific 
way of thinking of the mass of human society of which we 
are a part. 



CHAPTER II 

The: Othe:r-Oniv manip^ksts Machine:-liki: Reactions. 

Let us imagine a lump of living tissue having the shape 
of a snail. Let us for simplicity's sake call it a snail. Let 
us examine and answer the question if this animal could 
''live/' in the sense in which the Other-One lives, however 
remote the resemblance of their lives may be. The animal 
we are imagining is still a little simpler than a real snail. Our 
snail has no house (not all snails have a house), no tentacles, 
no nervous system, no differentiated tissue whatsoever so 
far as it concerns us. It is simply a lump of undifferentiated 
tissue of the shape of a snail. But it has a mechanism 
driving it forw^ard in a straight line in response to the 
stimulus of lack of food. The details of this mechanism, 
however, do not interest us at all. 

When placed on a pane of glass and observed oniy with 
respect to its silhouette, the picture of this imaginary snail 
is as simple as the outline given in our figure. What hap- 
pens now, if the snail is gently touched, say, at the front 
end in the place marked in the figure ? Owing to its sensi- 
tivity, the tissue touched undergoes a chemical change. We 
say that it becomes excited. Being contractile, the tissue 
reacts to its state of excitation by contracting. All the 
tissue of the right side of the head becomes immediately 
concentrated, condensed, into the space shaded in the figure. 
The head assumes an unsymmetrical form like the one 
shown in the figure. 

The excitation, first caused only in the neighborhood of 
the point touched, spreads now in consequence of the con- 

■(28) 



SXAIL TUKKING 29 

ductivity of the tissues. It spreads slowly thruout the whole 
body. Even after having reached the most remote part, 
the excitation continues in motion, continues to distribute 
itself. It becomes weaker in the part where it originated, 
stronger in the remote parts, until its strength has become 
the same everywhere, until the chemical constitution of 
the body, dififerent in different places just after the stimulus 
was applied, again is uniform all thru the body. 

Wherever the excitation reaches in its movement thru 
the body, contraction of the tissues occurs. On the other 
hand, in the region where the excitation originated and 
where it now weakens, that is, in the shaded space of the 
figure, the original contraction weakens. 

We must understand that w^e are imagining our snail to 
be sponge-like. We suppose that contraction in a part of 
this sponge, since the material is made to occupy less volume 
when contracted, makes that part denser in a physical sense. 
This implies a greater weight pef volume unit. The tissues 
become now gradually denser, heavier, in the remoter parts 
and simultaneously less dense from moment to moment in 
the region where the stimulation occurred, in the shaded 
space. 

This change of the density of the tissues, however, ac- 
companying the gradual spreading of the excitation, is itself 
gradual, not sudden, and thus does not produce any further 
deformation of the body surface, of the animal's shape, 
like that which followed the sudden application of the 
stimulus. After a second or two, we find the body with a 
w^eak uniform excitation, with a weak uniform contraction, 
and still with the deformation of the surface at the place 
where the stimulus w^as applied. 

Now, the chemical state which we have called excitation, 
means the presence, in the tissues, of chemical substances 



30 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHEU-ONE 

which are not ordinarily there. They must not remain 
there. A case of illness is an analogy. If we are sick, have 




SNAIL TURNING. 

a fever, this also means the presence in our body of chemical 
conditions, chemical substances, which are not normally 
there. If they remain, our life gradually weakens and 
finally ceases. When we recover, this means that these 
abnormal substances are being removed from the body, that 
the normal chemical constitution is being restored by those 
forces which are always active in living matter, whose study 
makes up the branch of science called physiological chemis- 
try. ^ . . '. 

In our snail now, too, the normal chemical constitution 
of the body gradually returns. As it returns, the state of 
contraction gradually disappears. The body slowly ex- 
pands again. It expands like a wrinkled football which we 
blow up. It expands most where it was indented, where 
the surface offers least resistance. But it also expands 
everywhere else. The assumption is entirely justified that 
our snail, too, in expanding loses its wrinkles, so to speak. 



SNAIL TUKNING 31 

The deformation disappears. But at the same time, since 
the tissues are now everywhere sHghtly and uniformly con- 
densed, the effect of the expansion shows everywhere on 
the surface of the body. The expansion shows also on that 
side of the head which was not stimulated. This brings 
with it a change of the situation of the axis of the body. 

Think of the axis (ab) in our figure as if it were a knife 
edge on which the body could be balanced at the start. 
There was then as much weight of the body on one side of 
the solid line as on the other. At a later moment, some time 
after the deformation, when the excitation and the disturb- 
ed tissue density have already become uniform thruout the 
deformed body, the animal could no longer be balanced on 
this knife edge. It would become necessary to shift the 
knife edge into a new position (say, xy), the dotted line, in 
order to keep the deformed body now balanced on it. The 
weight axis, now, of the deformed, but uniformly dense, 
body is the dotted line. 

But the ver}^ gradual expansion, which accompanies the 
disappearance of the excitation from the entire body, — this 
redistribution of normal density and weight — occurs in a 
body which is already uniformly dense. The weight dis- 
tribution on the two sides of the knife edge (xy) is there- 
fore not appreciably disturbed relative to this knife edge. 
The second position of the knife edge on the ground there- 
fore becomes (approximately) the axis of the body restored 
to its normalit}^ perfect in shape and otherwise, as it was 
before the stimulation. 

Only one change remains as the consequence of the stim- 
ulation. What remains is a change of the situation of the 
animal. The part of the animal which was touched is now 
somewhat removed, sidewise, from the point in space where 
the contact occurred. The axis of the animal is farther re- 



32 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-O^^E 

moved from the point of the stimulus than it was when the 
stimulus was applied. The front end of the axis points in 
a somewhat different direction. The animal faces a dif- 
ferent direction. It is the same as if the mere contact had 
been an externally applied forceful push. 

The fact just mentioned may reveal an importance quite 
out of proportion to its simplicity. Apply it to the problem 
of getting an understanding of the role played in animal 
life by the nervous system. There was no nervous system 
in our ''snail.'' We, unfortunately and customarily, look 
upon our ''brain," — better, our nervous system, — with a 
peculiar awe. We think of its function as being the very 
essence of life. We have to learn to think of it in a very 
different, far more modest manner, if we desire to possess 
a sane, well proportioned view of animal life. 

The snail whose life we are discussing, needs no nervous 
system in order to live. Suppose the snail is creeping on the 




SNAIL AVOIDING AN OBSTACLE. 



ground in the direction of the arrow I in our figure. We 
agreed to take the mechanics of locomotion in the forward 



s:n'ail tuexin^g 33 

direction for granted. We may then at once devote our- 
selves to the more special problem. The snail, creeping for- 
ward, approaches the stone which accidentally lies in its 
way, and the right side of its head comes into contact with 
the stone. We know now, from our previous discussion, 
what must happen. The part which has been excited by the 
touch of the stone, contracts. A Httle later, expansion of 
the body occurs, but the expansion not only of the part near 
the stone but of all the body with practical uniformity. The 
result is a change of position. The axis of the snail now 
assumes a position more nearly that of the arrow II. 

The internal mechanism which caused the original for- 
ward movement, again becomes effective. The snail, moving 
forward, perhaps again comes into contact with the stone. 
The same happens as before. The axis turns a little farther 
toward the left. Again the forward movement begins and 
now, perhaps, is continued without touching the stone ; the 
actual path being approximately that indicated by the broken 
solid line composed of parts of I and II. 

It may be advisable to call attention to the fact that such 
an animal does not do what a human being might indeed do : 
avoid the obstacle by ''going around it." Such a simple 
organism merely changes its direction and immediately 
proceeds in a new direction. 

What we have described is by no means an extraordinary 
event in the animal's life, an unusual kind of behavior. It 
is practically the complete story of the snail. The snail, in 
order to live, must eat. Lack of food, continued for some 
time, results in chemical changes in the body. In con- 
sequence of structural and functional properties of the body 
which we cannot study here, these chemical changes bring 
about a forward movement. A rock (or any other obstacle) 
lies in the way. If the rock could permanently stop the for- 



34 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

ward movement, the snail would starve to death. But, in 
one or several stages, a change of the situation is brought 
about by a change of the direction of the animal's axis. 
Now the snail creeps on. Other obstacles which may be 
encountered are taken in the same way. On its forward 
march the snail, by accident, sometime passes over edible 
substances, which stimulate the mouth organs and, conse- 
quently, are consumed. Later, lack of food brings about 
locomotion again, and the same things happen in the same 
cycle. 

One may feel inclined to exclaim : An animal's life cannot 
be so simple, so automatic as that, — dependent on the mere 
accident that food substances should be in its fortuitous 
path ! But why not ? It is true, many a snail will fail to 
come across any food substances and die of starvation. 
Such is life ! But enough will have better luck and live to 
propagate the species, for food adapted to the needs jf 
snails is common on earth. 

Not only food is obtained in this — if one wishes to call 
it by that name, "mechanical" — way ; protection against in- 
jury is thus made possible too. If the snail, instead of ap- 
proaching a rock, had come near a directly injurious sub- 
stance, it might have changed its route even before touching 
that substance; for the tissues of its body are excited, not 
only by touch, but also by many other influences, for ex- 
ample by a change of temperature, or by the effect of a 
volatile chemical substance. A piece of camphor instead 
of a rock would have turned the snail some distance before 
touch would have been possible. 

Another important method of protecting itself is that of 
completely retiring within its shell, if the animal has one. 
This again requires no additional mechanism. We silently 
presupposed above, that the touch of which we spoke was 



SNAIL TUKKING 35 

a very gentle touch. It will, of course, always be gentle A 
it results from the snail's — this slowly moving animal's — • 
own motion. If the touch is relatively strong, as when a 
child touches a snail with a straw, the excitation resulting 
and spreading with great force all thru the tissues must 
cause, not only the tissues at the point of contact, but in 
quick succession also the neighboring tissues, possibly all 
of the body, to contract vigorously. If the whole body con- 
tracts strongly, it must, since a part of it is attached to the 
interior of the shell, necessarily disappear in the shell. 

A somewhat sophisticated student, nevertheless, was dis- 
satisfied with this description of the animal's life. What 
will happen, he asked, if the stone against w^hich the animal' 
moves, happens to touch it in the very center, neither to the 
right nor to the left? Does this situation not require a 
mysterious vital force, a will, or whatever you prefer to call 
it, capable of turning it away from the obstacle? 

Similar problems were quite the fashion in the clai: 
rooms of the philosophers of the middle ages. If you place 
a donkey between two bundles of hay, they argued, equally 
large and equally sweet smelling, he is unable to move in 
either direction and must starve to death, unless he has a 
mysterious power, such as a will. Any farmer, however, no 
matter whether he believes in a free will or in determination 
by natural causation, knows better. He knows that it is im- 
possible to make two bundles of hay exactly alike. Only a 
miracle could bring that about. And if they were alike, the 
slightest motion of the air would cause the one nostril of the 
animal to get more of the aroma of the hay than the other, 
and the animal would turn. So it is here. 

The animal is affected by many forces other than those 
which we are studying here. For example, it moves on 
rough ground. The fore end of its body is not shaped 



36 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 



exactly like the rear end. Being moved back over the rough 
ground in consequence of a touch at the very center of the 
front, and crawling forward again, the animal could only 
by a miracle touch the stone a second time with its very 
center. But if the touch occurs only slightly to the right or 
to the left, the next touch will occur still more to one side, 
as we have seen ; and the animal will soon move on, leaving 
the obstacle sidewise. 

A thoughtful and generous student of our book here in- 
terrupts us : ''We have convinced ourselves," he says, "that 
our imaginary snail, consisting of undifferentiated tissue, 
does not need a nervous system in order that it may live. 
Nevertheless, — why should the Creator be so stingy? Does 
he not give us many things which are not absolutely neces- 
sary? He might have offered the snails which populate the 
garden.s and forests a nervous system as a mere luxury !" 

The conducting strings, the neurons, we have learned, are 
the elements of which a nervous system is made up. Sup- 
Center 




>- a I 
AN IMPOSSIBLE NERVOUS SYSTEM. 



pose now, the Creator had appointed us to act as his deputy, 
to construct a nervous system and to offer it to our nerve- 
less snail. Having a vague idea that a nervous system in an 
animal is something like the telephone system of a town, we 
would probably unite a considerable number of conducting 
strings in a central point, like our figure called "An impos- 



NERVOUS SYSTEM 37 

sible nervous system." Altho the snail can get along without 
a nervous system, why should it not get along even better 
when in possession of our gift ! 

Imagine the snail has accepted the gift and is approaching 
the obstacle, the rock which we showed in our figure. The 
moment when the contact occurs one of the peripheral ends 
of the nervous strings is excited. The strings are so dif- 
ferentiated that they have an immensely greater conduc- 
tivity, that is, lesser resistance, than the undifferentiated 
tissues. The excitation, therefore, is conducted to the point 
where all the nervous strings are connected and thence with 
great intensity of flux along all the nervous strings, thus 
reaching effectively all the parts of the body. Consequently, 
all the parts of the body contract practically at the same time 
with great force. A prompt and relatively strong contrac- 
tion at the point of stimulation, followed slowly (as pre- 
viously described) by a weak and uniform contraction of 
the whole body is no longer possible. The resulting change 
of position is also impossible. 

The body in its entirety contracts and, after awhile, ex- 
pands again, to touch the rock, of course, in exactly the 
same way that it did the first time. In consequence of the 
touch, the whole bod}'' contracts again. It expands again, 
contracts again, expands again, contracts again, and so on 
endlessly, or rather until the animal is either exhausted or 
starved oi both. Any way of avoiding the obstacle is im- 
possible. 

It is clear, then, that the snail would be very much worse 
off w^ith this kind of a nervous system than without any. 
Without any nervous system it can live quite well, unless it 
happens to have exceedingly bad luck. With this nervous 
system it cannot live any more than a human being could 
live who, whenever he saw or heard anything, instead of 



38 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

normally responding to the situation presented, would in- 
variably have an epileptic fit, a violent and entirely useless, 
too widely spread, unadapted, muscular contraction. 

If our snail is wise, it thanks us for our kind intention 
but begs us to keep our gift. Of course, all that we have 
proved is that this particular nervous system is unacceptable. 
Another kind, dififerently constructed, might be an accep- 
table gift. 

One case in which a nervous system could be serviceable 
in an animal's body would be that in which the contraction 
is to occur not at all at the point of stimulation, but at some 
other point. This result can be brought about by conductmg 
away the excitation from the point of stimulation by string- 
like tissues which cannot themselves contract, but possess a 
greater conductivity than ordinary, undifferentiated tissues 
Carried ^o another point, the excitation can there perform 
its normal action, that of causing the contraction desired ai 
that point. 

This kind of function is necessary in all the more highly 
organized animals, in the insects as well as in the verte- 
brates. As example we may use one of the most 
familar insects, a moth. Everybody know^s the striking be- 
havior of a moth, its flying towards any source of light. It 
is the result of the nervous connections between the wing 
muscles and the eyes. The right eye is connected (if not 
exclusively, at least better) by nervous strings w^th the 
muscles of the left wing, the left eye with the muscles of 
the right wing. If the moth has the source of light on its 
right side, the right eye receives more light and consequently 
a stronger excitation than the left eye. The left wing then 
beats the air more forcefully than the right wing, and the 
animal is turned to the right until both eyes are excited by 
the light with equal intensity ; that is, until the moth flies 
directly towards the light. 



BEHAVIOR OF A MOTH 39 

An inquisitive student here puts before us a question. 
"Is this behavior of the moth of any value to it?" We 
answer that it probably is. It may be that the moth is thus 
aided in getting to places where food is obtainable. It is true 
that millions of moths are destroyed thru this instinctive 
action of flying toward the light. Sources of light de- 
structive to moths on the surface of the earth are an in- 
vention of mankind, rather recent, for which Nature can- 
not be expected to have made provision in giving the moth 
its biological inheritance. 

So much is plain, that it could do a moth, whose anatomi- 
cal structure is (relatively) so highly developed, no good 
whatsoever if an excitation caused by light in the region of 
the head would cause a contraction of the tissues there, in 
the head. In order to be of any value to the animal, it is 
necessary that the chief sensory areas, the eyes, and the 
chief motor organs, the wing muscles, be connected with 
each other by differentiated tissues of the conducting kind, 
by nerves. 

(The student who has but little biological knowledge 
must, and might here at this moment, be warned against 
confusing the terms ''connective tissue'' and ''conductive 
tissue.'' The former refers to an entirely different kind of 
tissue with which this book is not concerned. "Conductive 
tissue" does not connect by binding things mechanically to- 
gether, but "connects" only by conduction.) 

Will it side-track us if we discuss here briefly another 
fact which is of great significance for the behavior of ani- 
mals? We said that the movement of the moth's wings was 
caused by the excitation whic'. comes from the eye. The 
question may be asked how a continous excitation like that 
in the moth's eye can cause a discontinuous rhythmical, 
movement like that of flapping wings. We have no need to 



40 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

explain this here in detail, but it is important to point out, 
that such a transformation of something continuous into 
something discontinuous is an exceedingly common occur- 
rence in nature. It is especially important to note that it 
occurs in the inorganic world, the dead part of nature, as 
frequently as in the organic world, in living nature, so that 
we cannot be accused of having neglected the possible 
claims for recognition of any so-called vital or mental 
forces when we simply stated that the wings flapped merely 
because of light falling steadily on the animal's eye. 

The inorganic world offers many examples. The wind 
passing steadily over the surface of the ocean does not 
cause, by friction, a mere motion of the surface water in 
the same direction. It causes, as we all know, a motion of 
the particles of water mostly in a vertical direction, up arxd 
down, causing waves, which periodically rise and fall a 
considerable height. Or, when we blow a whistle steadily, 
the result is a rh^/thmical movement of the particles of air 
enclosed in the w^histle, a sound in the physical sense. When 
water flows very slowly from the kitchen faucet, it does 
not fall in a continuous and very narrow stream, but in 
periodical drops. Air blown under water thru a tube, simi- 
larly rises in periodical bubbles. Nobody thinks that such 
a transformation in these cases requires any hypothetical 
vital or mental forces. To assume any such forces in the 
case of muscular activity is equally unnecessary. What we 
have said about nervous excitation in the eye causing 
rhythmical motion of the wings is all that need be said, 
unless we are specially interested in the details of physiologi- 
cal science. 

After this deviation we return to our problem of psy- 
chology. What kind of a nervous system could be regarded 
as an acceptable gift by our snail, — or by any other animal? 



KERVOUS SYSTEM 41 

We saw that one kind of behavior is impossible to the 
snail or any other animal lacking a nervous system, namely, 
a contraction at one point of the body in response to an 
excitation started at a different point, without any contrac- 
tion occurring at this latter point. If the tip of one of the 
tentacles of a snail — let us think of a snail with tentacles — 
is affected by a certain stimulus, say, the heat of fire, it 
would undoubtedly be safer for the animal to move back 
by means of its locomotor organs, however far these are 
from the point of stimulation, than to respond strongly by 
a contraction of the stimulated tentacle and only weakly or 
not at all by action of the locomotor organs. 

We see at once the close connection between the existence 
of a nervous system and of highly developed special organs, 
especially of locomotor organs. Higher animals, having 
legs, must indeed, because they have these special organs, 
respond to stimuli occurring at certain excitable points of 
the body, far from the legs, by pushing themselves forward 
or back on their legs, and perhaps by no other motor 
reaction. It would be strange indeed if, in order to put the 
legs in action, a stimulus had to be applied to the legs. 

It is not necessarv to illustrate this function of a nervous 
system by animal locomotion exclusively. Think of any 
other form of reaction. Think of a dog who scratches him- 
self. Dift'erent motor organs (muscles) must move a leg 
to a different place according to whether the insect bites 
here or there. The snail, which has scarcely any specialized 
motor organs, just on this account does not absolutely need 
a nervous system. So much nervous tissue as a real snail 
possesses, serves minor purposes which do not much con- 
cern us here. 

On the other hand, if an animal has specialized locomotor 
and other motor organs, fins, wings, or legs, with double 



42 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHEE-ONE 

sets of muscles for forward and backward motion, its ner- 
vous system must be designed in accordance with the fol- 
lowing plan and cannot be designed in any other way with- 
out defeating its purpose. Certain excitable points of the 
body must be connected by conducting strings with certain 
contractile tissues located in definite points of the body; 
other excitable points must be connected with certain other 
contractile tissues of the body. 

If we simplify our way of expressing this we may say: 
Each sensory (that is, excitable) point of the body must he 
connected by a conducting string zvith a definite motor (that 
is, contractile) point of the body. 

Remember, however, that the facts are not quite so simple 
as they are expressed in these words. Actually, a single 
sensory point is scarcely ever excited in isolation, and a 
single contractile point, a single muscle fiber, never con- 
tracts while all other fibers remain at rest. However, 
general statements of fundamental facts for the purpose of 
remem.bering and reflecting upon them in the abstract, are 
always artificially simplified. In this sense one can even 
say that such statements are not true. Nevertheless, other- 
wise they would be of little value to our thought, which at 
any moment is limited in capacity. The statements may 
not be true, but they are valuable to the seeker after truth. 

All scientific laws, not excluding the greatest and most 
famous of them, are artificial simphfications. An illustra- 
tion, even tho it be a deviation from psychology into meth- 
odology, may not be amiss. When Kepler, for example, 
discovered that the planets move in ellipses, he discovered 
something that is not true. No planet moves around the 
sun in an ellipse. Kepler's discovery consisted in an arti- 
ficial but useful simplification of the facts of observation, 
in showing us that we can well afford to regard the orbits 



se:n^soey and motor points 43 

as ellipses in spite of the fact that they are not strictly 
ellipses. 

We must proceed in Psychology in the same way. And 
we shall in this book often proceed thus. Only by simpli- 
fying the facts (using good judgment therein) can we bring 
them within the limits of our thinking capacity. 

This justifies our speaking of the connection of one 
sensory point with one motor point as if such a simple ner- 
vous connection actually existed. 

We may represent such nervous connections graphically, 
that is, in a perfectly arbitrary design selected only with 
reference to clearness and other conveniences, which be- 
come apparent at a later time. Each sensory point S in 
our figure is connected with one definite motor point M by 
a conductor, represented in the figure, of course, by a line. 
That this connecting line has the form of a flat arch, made 
up of three straight lines, is by no means essential. We 
shall gradually find that this form has special advantages 
which no other form will give us as well. 

Abstractions make dull reading. The next paragraph 
is nothing but a statement, in very abstract terms, of the 
advantages to be derived by representing a nervous con- 
nection by an arch consisting of three straight lines. Those 
who dislike dull reading, will omit the next paragraph and 
pass on to the following. 

Any graphical representation of such a qualitative fact as 
that of a functional connection between two parts of a living 
body is an important means of describing the qualitative 
fact in quantitative terms. In this manner a possibility is 
opened for the development of a scientific theory. Scientific 
theories, scientific laws, are observed facts described in 
quantitative, that is, mathematical, terms. Mathematical 
descriptions are made either graphically (geometrically) or 



44 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 



analytically (arithmetically, algebraically). We have just 
shown a part of the method used in the graphical description. 
It uses a very definite terminology, so to speak. The ''terms'' 
are arches consisting of three straight lines each. We shall 
later see that this enables us to describe important nervous 
functions in arithmetical terms. And this quantitative 
method will enable us to draw conclusions as to the func- 
tions of the nervous system quite impossible if we had stated 



^1 








M 


t 
C 


1 


' 




1 


/ 








' ' 








A ' 


k 


^ 









NEURON ARCHES: DIAGRAMS OF REFLEX PATHS. 



M. 



the facts in purely qualitative terms, as is usual in neuro- 
logical discussions. However, we cannot anticipate these 
results here. We merely want to indicate that the graphical 
representation is to serve a very definite purpose. 

Now let us speak again in the concrete. Each of those 
straight lines means a neuron. Each of these arches con- 
sists of three neurons. We may place the arches in our 
graph side by side Hke S^ M and S^M^ and S^M^, . Or 
they mav be drawai nested like S, M^ , S.M^ and S M . 

■'•' CCDq 3. 3i 

Which form we choose depends purely on w^hich form 
ofifers the greater convenience and clearness in describing 
whatever we wish to describe. 

We must never think of the length of any of these lines, 
but only of their number. It is the number which represents 
the total length of the conductor. In the form where the 



EEFLEX- FUNCTIONS 45 

arches are nested, we do not think of them as dififering in 
size. On the contrary we think of them as being all exactly 
the same kind of arches, drawing them of different sizes 
only in order that we may see them in separation and with- 
out confusion. We shall see later that the size of any arch, 
the length of any of its lines, will play no role in our cal- 
culations of the intensity and direction of function. Only 
the number, irrespective of the length, of these Hues will 
enter into our calculations. 

The function of one of these nervous paths just repre- 
sented by arches, from S to M, is customarily called a reflex 
function. The choice of the word ''reflex" is due to the 
historical accident that several hundred years ago this 
function seemed to the physiologists of that time to be 
somewhat comparable to the reflection -of light from a 
mirror, — namely, in promptitude. 

When we look at ourselves in a mirror, we do not have 
to wait any appreciable time before our image appears. It 
is reflected back at once. Neither do we have to wait long 
before a person lipon whose toe we stepped begins to pull 
away his foot. On the other hand, we may have to wait a 
considerable time before the same person puts his hand in 
his pocket and drawls out some money, after we have asked 
him to lend us a dollar, or ten, or a hundred. 

Human actions seem to classify themselves naturally into 
two groups, those which are slow, hesitating, and those 
which are quick as the reflection of our image in the looking 
glass. The latter kind the early physiologists called reflex 
actions ; and we still call them so, altho we nowadays have 
instruments which enable us to measure even the shortest 
time intervening between the stimulus and the response 
(the reaction time) and know that this length of time is 
rarely less than a tenth of a second, incomparably longer 



46 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHEE-O^^E 

than the time occupied by the reflecting of the hght rays 
from the mirror. 

One of the simplest methods of measuring the reaction 
time is by the use of the instrument of which the essential 
parts are sketched in our figure. A metal post, P, bears a 
lever of which one end has a button for the subject's finger. 
The other end of the lever is flexible, is a steel spring capable 
of vibrating horizontally at the rate of a hundred times per 



MEASURING THE REACTION TIME. 

second. This vibrator, V, has a point which writes on a 
smoked sHde, S. H is a hook by means of which the ex- 
perimenter pulls the slide. A pin not shown in the figure, 
fastened to the slide, holds the vibrator bent sidewavs until 
it is withdrawn. At the moment of pulling H, the vibrator 
begins to make a sound and to write every hundredth of a 
second one wave on the moving slide. As soon as the sound 
acts on the ear, the excitation runs to the arm muscle, the 
button is pressed down, the vibrator rises and ceases to 
write. And the number of waves written on the smoked 
slide is the reaction time, generally between ten and twenty, 
in hundredths of a second. 

A reflex function is made possible by the existence in 
the body of the animal of a reflex path, a chain of neurons 
connecting a definite sensory point with a definite motor 
point. 

The rem.arks following this paragraph will not interest 
all readers and may be passed over. We cling to these 
terms "sensory" and ''motor'' points, altlio others would 



EEACTION TIME 47 

prefer the terms ''receptor" and ''effector." As we have 
previously mentioned, the efifects of excitations are con- 
tractions in the striped (skeletal) and smooth (organic) 
muscles and secretions in the glands. But the skeletal 
muscles, being the chief motors of the body, have more 
social importance than the other muscles and the glands. 
Secretions, compared with motions, have but little social 
significance and therefore interest the psychologist much 
less than the physiologist. In our figures the letters S and 
M (Sensory and Motor functions. Sense organs and Mus- 
cles) have for the psychologist a better suggestiveness than 
the letters R and E would have, — in all languages. For 
similar reasons we shall later speak of sensory and motor 
neurons rather than of afferent and efferent neurons. There 
are two further reasons for avoiding the words afferent and 
efferent. They are difficult to distinguish in the spoken 
language, in the class room. And they suggest to the student 
the very unfortunate conception of the brain as a reservoir 
or storage tank of something. 

We do not know^ what the nu: iber of neurons is which, 
in the higher animals, make up reflex paths. It is quite 
arbitrary that in our graph we represent this number by 
three. There is, however, a certain probability that the 
actual nuinber is often three and never less than three. In 
one of our arches, which, since they represent reflex func- 
tions, might well be called "reflex arches," for example 
in the reflex arch S S,^- M^M^, the conductor S, S^ will 

p. *- C C C (■ 

for obvious reasons be called a sensory neuron, M^M^ a 
motor neuron. The neuron S^M-^- will be called a nerve 

c c 

center. 

No particular meaning attaches to the word "center" in 
neurological usage. It has like so many other terms a purely 
accidental historical origin. There was a time when even 



48 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

scientists believed that certain parts of the nervous system, 
of the brain, had the power to act spontaneously, to direct 
by their own sweet w^ill the actions of the animal. These 
parts v/ere then called centers, very much as we speak, 
without being able to give the word any literal meaning, 
of the center of a government' or of a telephone central. 

In our reflex arch we mean by center simply that neuron 
which is neither a sensory nor a motor neuron, — not having 
either of its ends in a sensory or motor point of the body. 

We may, however, choose now and then to call the point 
S- in an indirect, derivative sense a sensory point. But, 
to make this clear we must add to ''sensory'' a further, 
modifying adjective, for example, the adjective ''central.'' 
That addition then has the sense of a negation, of a limita- 
tion. 

Let us then call the point S-, on those occasions where 
we find it convenient and desirable, a "central sensory 
point." The addition means that it is not a sensory (sensi- 
tive) point of the body. This is no uncommon usage of 
language in science. In physics we call latent heat what is 
not heat, what has no temperature. 

A central sensory point is a point in a nerve center from 
which one can trace a shorter path to a (real) sensory point 
than to any motor point of the body. In the same manner 
M^ will be called and regarded as a central motor point. 
From it one can trace a shorter path to a motor point 
(muscle) than to any sensory point of the body. That is 
all that is meant. Nothing else. 

Speaking of sensory and motor nerve centers has been 
common practice in neurology from its early history. We 
have here merely defined these terms for our use more 
exactly than is customary. 



CENTEAI^ AND PERIPHEEAL 49 

Having called S^^M^- a nerve center, we may add that it 
is a ''low" or ''lower'' nerve center, for we shall later have 
to learn that there are also "high'' or "higher" centers. The 
"lowest" center is that one which makes the shortest con- 
nection, the shortest among all those paths which may exist, 
leading from the definite sensory point to the definite motor 
point under consideration. In other words, each particular 
reflex function depends on the existence of a particular 
low nerve center serving the tv/o "corresponding" peripheral 
points, sensory and motor. Peripheral, of course, is noth- 
ing but a common term including both sensory and motor. 
The literal meaning of "peripheral" is here entirely lost. 

A student feels puzzled when he is asked the question if 
he could deprive an animal or a person of one of his re- 
flexes by cutting it out with a knife. The question is really 
clear and concrete ; and the answer is simply "Yes." Having 
a reflex means no more than having a definitely located 
"chain" of neurons. It may be difficult to determine its 
exact location. And it may be difficult to cut it out without 
cutting out other things too. But these are difficulties which 
exist in every surgical operation — in varying degrees. 



CHAPTER III 
The: Other-One's Reactions are either Concerted or 

LOCAE 

The purpose of a reflex is to insure that the action take 
place in a certain locaHty when the stimulation occurs in 
a different locality. A reflex reaction so far as hitherto 
considered is a local reaction, — local in the sense of not 
being a general reaction or a reaction in many localities of 
the animal's body. But local action is not always the action 
which benefits the animal under the circumstances of the 
case. Let us look for examples from the Other-One's 
daily life. 

The Other-One climbs a tree. He does that by applying 
two hands and two feet to the tree and its branches. Climb- 
ing without all four extremities is almost impossible. The 
four limbs must co-operate. That does not mean that the 
muscles of all the limbs must contract at exactly the same 
moment. But they must contract at about the same time. 
A contraction of one followed by a contraction of another 
one a minute later could not be called climbing. 

As we have pointed out in another connection in a previous 
chapter, in order to understand, to make plain, to ''explain" 
the facts, we must simplify them as much as possible, — in 
our imagination if w^e cannot do it actually. Is it possible, 
in this manner, to place all actions which are not ''local" 
into one class and call them by one name? The title of this 
chapter seems to assert that this is possible. And it suggests 
as name the term "concerted." 

(50) 



CONCERTED ACTION 51 

Even in so simple an action as hitting a table with a 
fist a large number of muscles are involved. The very fist 
is the result of the contraction of certain muscles bending 
the fingers. The downward motion of the fist is the result 
of the contraction of certain muscles producing various 
motor effects, chief among them the stretching of the arm 
in the elbow joint. If these muscles remained contracted, 
the fist, after having hit, would press the table. Other 
muscles must immediately bend the arm at the elbow joint 
if it is to be a mere hitting without continued pressing upon. 
They must begin to contract even before the stretching 
muscles begin to relax. 

Any such actions which occur (must occur in the nature 
of the case) either at the same moment or at almost the 
same time or in such quick succession that one is justified in 
saying they occur at about the same time, might well be 
called concerted. There is no need of limiting the meaning 
of the term concertedness. It may very well include actions, 
occurring at about the same time, which have various ad- 
ditional temporal or even other relations. This abstract 
statement will be illustrated by concrete examples of such 
mutual relations. 

When one hears the word ''concert," he thinks of music. 
That is not the original meaning of the word. It means 
really nothing but agreement in action. In European 
politics during the nineteenth century one used to speak of 
the concert of the Powers. But with no other kind of 
agreement in action are we so famihar as with that of a 
company of musicians playing before us. Their concerted- 
ness of action can teach us an important distinction relative 
to causes and effects, which we have to make also in speak- 
ing of concerted actions in any anim.al or in the Other-One. 



52 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-OXE 

The questions ''Why do musicians play?'' and ''Why do 
the musicians play in concert?" refer to very different 
psychological causes. They play because (if we give a 
simple and striking answer) their stomachs are empty. The 
stimulus is lack of food. They want to make a living. The 
stimulation which causes the concertedness of their action 
is an entirely different one. This stimulus comes from their 
leader, their conductor, the director of the orchestra, or 
whatever you call him. They would not play if you offered 
to give them the sight of their conductor as a substitute for 
paying them money. xA.nd they would not (could not) play 
in concert (according to the highest standards) if you 
offered to put a ten dollar bill into each one's pocket as a 
substitute for giving them their leader. The stimulus com- 
ing from the conductor of the orchestra is a sign or sound 
made by him. If a musician does not make his tone at the 
right time or with the proportionate pitch or strength, the 
conductor of the orchestra acts as a stimulus which makes 
the laggard speed up or the bungler correct himself. The 
conductor of the orchestra, let us remember, does not func- 
tion as the cause which makes the musician play, but as the 
cause which makes him adjust his playing. 

In all concerted action we must carefully distinguish 
these two classes of stimuli : the class of stimuli causing 
each of the local actions; and the class of stimuli causing 
the concertedness of the several local actions, — whatever 
this concertedness may consist in. 

Now let us think of some further examples of concerted 
action of his Hmbs in the life of the Other-One. Having 
climbed high up on a tree he wishes to pass from one of its 
large branches to one of the very near large branches of a 
neighboring tree. He passes along hanging. In this activity 
his two arms co-operate. Deprive him of the use of one 



.CONCEETED ACTION 53' 

of his arms, and he cannot pass along the branches support- 
ed by one hand only. This is another example of concerted 
action. But it interests us not only as an example of con- 
certed action. It interests us still more by being a con- 
certed action which is a part of the concerted action of 
climbing. 

Being a part of a complex, it is in a sense a local action. 
It is confined to the arms, whereas climbing is an action of 
both, the upper and the lower, pairs of extremities. An 
action, therefore, is concerted or local only in a relative 
sense. The same action is local in comparison with another 
of w^hich it is a component ; and concerted in comparison, of 
course, with another which is one of its components. 

Walking is concerted action because it consists of action 
of the two legs in agreement. Walking is local action be- 
cause it is action in the locality of the lower extremities 
only, not a concert of the lower and upper extremities as 
is climbing. 

Standing on one foot is local action; and at the same 
time concerted, in so far as it involves co-operative action of 
many muscles. Picking an apple from a tree with one hand 
is likewise, in a relative sense, to be regarded either as local 
(one h^nd) or concerted (hand, arm, shoulder, standing 
feet, etc.). Treading the pedal of a machine with the right 
foot and feeding in with the right hand material for the 
machine to work on, is clearly concerted action ; and yet it 
is purely local, right-sided, in so far as the left side of the 
body is inactive. The workman might have lost his left arm 
and his left leg. 

When a student is asked what bodily actions his teacher, 
perhaps lecturing during a whole hour, performed during 
that hour, he replies : ''He talked. He used his speech 
organs." And that would be a very exact statement, in 



54 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

some sense; for example, before a jury in a court room. 
And yet, in another sense, it is very inexact. A local action 
confined to the speech organs is quite impossible under 
normal conditions. The lecturer not only talks, but also 
stands, — or sits, in accordance with his temperament. Stand- 
ing is an action. If you do not believe it, if you think it 
means doing nothing, enjoying a rest, ask a recruit in the 
army. And sitting equally is an action. Is a hen enjoying 
a rest while sitting on eggs? Certainly not. And the lec- 
turer, while more restful in the sitting than in the standing 
position, is less restful than he would be in the lying posi- 
tion. If all muscles relaxed, no sitting would be possible. Be- 
sides, the lecturer must keep his head steady. If it fell up- 
on one of his shoulders or his client, lecturing would be 
impossible 

We see from this last example that a ''local" action signi- 
fies only that the ''main" muscular activity is confined to x 
certain locality in the body. It does not signify that there 
are no muscular activities outside of that locality. The 
latter, however, are of minor importance or seem to be so. 
A purely local activity in a biological sense is virtually im- 
possible. But in a social sense, from the point of view of 
those among whom the Other-One daily lives, an action 
may be called purely local. It means simply that the only 
activity which, at a given time, was strong enough to be 
significant, conspicuous, worth mentioning, was the action 
at a certain locality of the body. 

No newspaper reporter, for exaniple, would mention that 
a politician addressing a certain audience, in addition to 
talking, kept his neck muscles under tension, washed his 
eyes by winking the normal number of times per minute, 
now and then swallowed saliva, and frequently shifted the 
weight of his body from one to the other foot. From a 



CONCERTED ACTION 55 

social point of view the politician merely talked. He did 
not, for example, talk and dance. This, however, the re- 
porter could rightfully have said of some chorus girl of the 
operetta stage, and he would then have reported a case of 
concerted action, where two actions, talking (with the 
speech organs) and dancing (with the feet) would have 
been equally pronounced and occurring in necessary agree- 
ment. 

The pronunciations and the writing actions in the use of 
a language are both good examples of concerted action. 
Pronouncing ''ferret" is a concert of muscular activities. 
Pronouncing ''fret'' is another one. The comparison of the 
two cases illustrates the importance of the relative force of 
each constituent action. In other cases of pronunciation the 
succession of the elements is of main importance. 

In writing it often happens that the succession of the 
elements is incorrect. A certain one of tw^o muscle sets, 
both of which are ready for action, precedes the other one 
instead of being preceded by the other one. The author 
once knew a student who usually "lasped" into writing 
Odgen the name of his teacher which really was Ogden. 
The cause of it is obvious. In the English language the 
writing actions of d and g in this succession are a much 
more common form of concert than g succeeded by d. 
Think of badge, edge, ridge, lodge, cudgel. 

These examples will suffice to keep us aware of the fact 
that it is never useful to think of concertedness in any but 
a relative sense. A concerted action may, according as it 
is compared, be local. In that case we shall regard it theo- 
retically, that is, in artificial and intentional simplification, 
as a mere reflex action and represent it by a single reflex 
arch. In so far as we consider its real complexity, it need 
not consist of strictly simultaneous (but only of about 



56 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHEE-OXE 

simultaneous) muscular contractions. The agreement of 
the several components may be of one kind or of another, 
of many kinds still to be illustrated by further examples. 
All that the term concertedness implies is a definite manner 
of co-operation of a definite number of localities of an 
animal's body leading to a definite real or apparent end. 
And the co-operation must take place within a period of 
time so small that one can speak of it as ''the present" time. 
For example, ''at the present time Robinson Crusoe is 
climbing a tree." Or, "at the present time he is walking." 

The simpler the manner of co-operation of different 
localities, the easier it is to make it clear and understandable 
as the result of definite causes, of definite biological func- 
tions. In low animals the manner of co-operation of several 
local contractions is likely to be simpler than in high 
animals. 

It is therefore advisable to study and understand clearly 
a case of concerted action in a very low animal. In the jelly- 
fishes the ordinary locomotion is a good example of concer- 
ted action. Let us study it in detail. 




TWO CROSS-SECTIONS OF A JELLY- 
FISH. 



A jelly-fish has a bell-shaped body. The figure shows 
it in cross-section. The so-called vegetative organs and the 
feet or tentacles have been omitted because they do not in- 
terest us in this connection. On contraction of the bell, in 
the manner indicated by the dotted line, the water — the 
medium in which the jelly-fish lives — is pressed out of the 



CONCEETED ACTIOlSr 57 

concave side, and the animal, naturally, moves in the di- 
rection of the convex side. As a matter of fact, the move- 
ment of a jelly-fish in the water is rarely seen to be as 
simple as our statement suggests. The usual position of 
the animal is with the cavity downwards, tho not neces- 
sarily with the axis exactly in the vertical position. And 
its usual locomotion is oblique rather than in the direction 
of the axis. But, as we have previously justified it in gene- 
ral, so we here as elsewhere simplify the actual case and 
regard it as a motion along the axis in the direction of the 
convex side. 

It is plain enough that a straight-way locomotion could 
then result only under certain conditions. For example, it 
would be impossible if the tissues on one-half of the rim of 
the bell contracted while those on the other half relaxed, 
expanded, or even only lagged behind a little in contracting. 
This lagging behind, however, could easily be brought about 
by the uncontrolled play of certain conditions, — which we 
now have to study. 

To understand these conditions, let us first imagine the 
analogous case of eight leaky places on a water pipe. Sup- 
pose the frequency of the dropping at each place to be about 
the same, say, one drop a second. But even then we could 
not expect all the eight drops to fall simultaneously : as we 
say in physics, we could not expect that there be no phase 
difference among the eight drops. The eight drops would 
probably fall from the eight leaks in a quite irregular suc- 
cession. Let us make the application of this analogy. 

The rhythmical contraction all around the rim of the 
bell would be caused by the chemical constitution of the 
jelly-fish at the time in question, when perhaps no food has 
been taken for some time and locomotion thus has become 
necessary. Now, lack of food is a very slowly developing, 



58 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHEE-ONE 

slowly acting stimulus. The excitation resulting from it 
has a chance to distribute itself continuously all over the 
body, — to distribute itself more quickly than it develops. 
It is therefore quite impossible that it differ appreciably in 
various parts of the body at the same time. The excitation 
being the samiC in all the divisions of the rim of the bell, 
no division would on account of stimulus and excitation 
have a frequency of periodic contraction differing from that 
of any other division. Of course it is here presupposed that, 
the greater the excitation, the greater the frequency of the 
resulting contraction. 

•In spite of tha uniformity of the excitation (the chemical 
condition) thruout the body, however, there might be a 
slight difference of the frequency of the bending inwards 
of the divisions of the rim, if the tissues happen to be un-. 
equally flexible. In consequence of a wound there might 
remain a scar, and the tissues of this region might therefore, 
or simply by accidents of growth (what animal could be 
absolutely perfect in symmetry!) be a little more or a little 
less tough than elsewhere. A difference of frequency 
would result. 

What would be the result of a difference of frequency 
for the locomotion of the animal? If of two paddle wheels 
on the two sides of a steamer one would go faster, strike 
the water more frequently, wdiat would be the result? The 
steamer would continuously turn to one side, gradually de- 
scribe a circle. That would help little to remedy the evil 
of lack of food, — in the analogous case of a jelly-fish. 

Now suppose the frequency of contraction, fortuitously, 
to be the same everywhere. That would by no means in- 
sure that the contractions occur in all the divisions of the 
rim of the bell simultaneously. There would be as little 
probability for that as for the falHng, simultaneously, of 



CONCEKTED ACTIOlSr 59 

those eight drops at eight leaky places of a pipe. And what 
would be the result for the locomotion of the animal? The 
same as if several boatsmen rowing a boat in a race would 
not drop their oars in the water simultaneously, but in 
irregular succession. The boat would not advance in a 
straight line, but wabble, so to speak, irregularly and jerkily 
from either side to the other. That would be a considerable 
waste of effort. 

Could the simultaneity be insured? In the boat race it 
is insured by the captain of the team, who, if necessary, 
counts aloud. His words are not the stimulus which makes 
the oarsmen work. (We remember the conductor of the 
orchestra!) His words are the stimulus which makes them 
correct the imperfections of the concert of their actions. 
The boat no longer proceeds in an irregular serpentine, but 
in a straight line. It has a chance to win the race. 

In the jelly-fish, as soon as one of the divisions of the 
rim of the bell ''spontaneously" (that is, in response to the 
stimulus ''lack of food") begins to contract, this contrac- 
tion itself assumes the role of a stimulus. From it results 
a new excitation, — in the very tissues contracting, an ad- 
dition to the excitation previously existing in them, which 
has caused their contraction. But what becomes of this new 
excitation ? 

All tissues are, as we know already, to some degree sen- 
sitive, contractile and conductive. The new excitation is 
therefore conducted to all the other divisions of the bell, 
even tho there be no differentiated conductive tissue. Those 
other divisions are almost ready to contract, in response to 
the stimulus "lack of food." They would contract in any 
case, one soon, another one just a moment later, and so 
forth. The additional e-xcitation reaching them "speeds 
them up," causes them to contract now, all of them virtually 



60 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

at the same moment. One must remember in this connec- 
tion that the velocity of propagation ('Velocity/' not rate, 
not quantity of flow) of any small unit of excitation is 
quite considerable; probably not much less than 100 feet 
per second. And from one side of a jelly-fish to the op- 
posite is a distance of only a few inches. So all the divis- 




NERYOrS SYSTEM OF A 
JELLY-FISH (ACALEPHA). 

ions would contract virtually at the same moment. In 
physical terminology, — that is, in the mathematical termino- 
logy of the physicist, — one would say that the phase dif- 
ference of the periodic contractions of the various divisions 
was zero. What now about any possible differences of 
their periods, — or (since this means really exactly the same) 
of their frequencies? 

We have made it clear previously that a difference of 
frequency is much less likely than a difference in phase. 
The stimulus "lack of food'' is a slowly developing stimulus, 
the excitation is therefore evenly distributed ; and consider- 
able dififerences in the toughness of the tissues are probably 
rare. If any difference in frequency is to be expected, we 
would expect only a slight one. And frequencies differing 
slightly would readily be equalized by the same factor which 
does away with the phase differences. If those divisions 
of the rim of the bell which lag behind, are forced to con- 



COI:^CEETED ACTIOI^ 61 

tract at the moment when the first contracts, and thus at 
the beginning of the next period again all contract at the 
same moment, and again and again, there can obviously be 
no frequency difference. 

In the locomotion of a jelly-fish the concertedness of the 
actions of the various divisions of the animal consists in 
the fulfilment of two conditions : in equality of the frequency 
of the various local contractions and in the phase difference 
of their periods being zero. And this concertedness — we 
understand now — is brought about simply by the fact that 
a contraction of tissue, altho resulting, of course, from a 
stimulus, can itself be a stimulus. This latter stimulus is 
analogous to the class of stimuli coming from the leader, 
in the example of the orchestra. Naturally, there is no 
special leader in the body of a jelly-fish. Any part may 
accidentally assume this role. The stimulus ''lack of food'' 
is analogous to the stimulus "lack of food'' in the other 
case. 

We shall later see that in the highest animals, too, con- 
traction of contractile tissue may be itself a stimulus. In- 
deed, the muscles, for that reason, must be regarded, not 
only as motor organs responding to sense organs, but them- 
selves as sense organs to which other muscles may respond. 
This interesting fact, altho it suggests itself, cannot be dis- 
cussed further at this moment, since that would interrupt 
our present line of thought. But this may still be said in 
this connection, that one must not think it strange that the 
muscles should have two different functions. In fact they 
have still other functions. They are also the ''stoves" which 
heat the body. And they are organs of secretion which, as 
such, like glands are of much importance. Biologically 
there is nothing strange in an organ having a multiplicity 
of even diverse functions. 



62 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

Equality of frequency and phase is one example. Serial 
occurrence is another example of concertedness. We find 
serial occurrence of actions in the highest as well as in the 
lower animals. All writing and speaking can furnish exam- 
ples. Or an experience of the following kind. 

Think of an insect alighting on your nose. Many are the 
responses which may occur. But which of them in all 
probability will be the first? Most probably you twitch or 
wriggle your nose; the insect is disturbed and leaves. No 
further action then follow^s, — there being no further stimu- 
lus. But the insect may have such a good hold on your nose 
that such slight movements will not cause it to leave. A 
second reaction occurs. You shake your head. But if this 
does not remove the insect, and if the stimulus, therefore, 
persists, you make a hand movement. With which hand? 
If you are what most people are, right-sided (this is a better 
designation than right-handed), you move the right hand. 
This will surely brush the insect off, if your hand can reach 
the nose. But imagine you are a captive among Indians 
and tied to a tree. The third reaction, that of the muscles 
controlling your right hand, therefore remains as ineffective 
as those preceding. Your fourth reaction will then be that 
of your left hand. It is ineffective like the third. Your 
fifth reaction is that of the right foot. Why should you 
not try to take a reed or a similar thing between your toes 
in order to brush the animal off? People who have no 
hands may be seen to take even a writing pen or knitting 
needles between their toes ! If the right foot does not suc- 
ceed, the sixth reaction may be that of your left foot. And 
after that a general twitching of all the muscles of the body 
may follow, general convulsions. You would not, with a 
mere sigh, permit the insect to destroy your nose in the man- 
ner in which in the classical paintings Prometheus reacts to 
the vulture gnawing his liver. . 



CONCEETED ACTION- 63' 

The reactions in a case like our example are not likely 
to occur in an irregular series, but in a definite one. And 
in a series, not simultaneously and immediately. 

Similar to serial reactions are c ircul ar reactions. The 
simplest circular reaction, consisting of two members only, 
is alternation. With alternate or reciprocal actions we are 
very familiar in engines. The piston of a steam engine, 
going one way, operates a lever which initiates its going the 
other way; this makes it go again the former way, and so 
forth. The heart of animals consists essentially of two 
chambers thru which, because of self-closing valves, the 
blood can pass only in one direction. The contraction of 
one chamber acts on the other chamber causing it to start 
contracting. The contraction of the other acts on the one, 
and so forth. 

. At a first glance all that seems necessary biologically in 
order to bring this about is the fact already mentioned, that 
a contraction becomes itself a stimulus, that is, the cause of 
an excitation. This excitation is conducted to the other 
muscle. The other muscle then contracts and, as a stimulus, 
causes in itself a new excitation, w^hich is conducted to the 
former muscle, and so forth. If we, accepting the responsi- 
bilities of the Creator, desire to improve the conduction, we 
do that by introducing dififerentiated conductive tissue. We 
take two reflex paths, put the sensory end of one of these 
''chains" of neurons in one muscle and its motor end in the 
other muscle. In the latter muscle we place also the sensory 
end of the other neuron chain; and the motor end of this 
we locate in the former muscle. Two reflexes joined in 
this manner seem to be all that is necessary for this form 
of concert. If there are three members in the circle of 
action instead of two, three reflexes are joined end to end. 
And so forth with higher numbers. 



64 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

In a true series, — not occurring in a ''circle'' like pump 
actions, but running along a ''line/' from one end of the 
series to the other without repetition of the series, — nothing 
more seems to be required, either, than a number of reflex 
paths joined and one initial stimulus from outside the muscle 
group. Draw some reflex arches side by side as in a pre- 
vious figure, but join the sensory point of the arch on the 
right to the motor point of the arch on the left. Continue 
adding in this manner as many reflex arches as you wish. 
This looks Hke a simple solution of the architectural prob- 
lem confronting the Creator in any case of serial or of 
circular action. — But it is not. 

The solution just suggested may solve the problem in 
many of the simpler cases. But it is far from being a 
solution generall} possible in biology. Two conflicting con- 
ditions seem to make life impossible. The problem would 
be hopeless if a complete denial of the demand of either the 
one or the other were insisted on. 

But what are these two conflicting conditions? 

One is the need, in the life of animals, of concerted action 
of various kinds. The other condition is the need of local 
responsiveness in the sense of one action being overwhelm- 
ingly strong in comparison with the responses occurring at 
the time in other localities of the body. 

It would be terrible if a jelly-fish, for example, could 
move only in a straight fine without ever changing its direc- 
^iQj-^^ — if a contraction of one division of the rim of the bell 
would invariably force all the other divisions to contract 
at the same moment. It would be terrible if the ability of 
a boy to climb a pole straddling forever precluded the pos- 
sibility of moving his hands alone, that is, without alternately 
moving now hands, now feet, again hands, again feet, and 
so on, — if he were thus condemned to be all his life a kind 



COlSrCEETED ACTION 6 



of jumping jack, if he could not eat without exercising at 
the same time "half bend of the knees/' It would be terrible 
if chewing, swallowing, and pushing things down the esoph- 
agus, which often occur in this order in a series, could never 
occur otherwise, — if chewing could never be followed by 
spitting, and swallowing never by vomiting. 

And yet these terrible consequences seem to be inevitable 
if concerted action is always and only the result of perfec- 
ting the conductivity of the tissues concerned, or, in the 
higher animals, of joining reflexes together. How can the 
reflexes, by functioning separately, give the animal local 
responsiveness, if the very cause of their existence, the 
separateness and localness of the response, has been denied 
by joining them in groups or series? 

On the other hand, — this is the dilemma — how can con- 
certedness be the result of anything else but of the con- 
ductivity from acting member to acting member of the inter- 
posed tissues, or of the junction of several reflexes? The 
reflexes must be joined. The problem is obviously, not 
merely a problem of joining or not joining, but rather of 
joining in the proper or in an improper manner. It is a 
problem, seemingly, of architectural design within the con- 
ductive tissue, within the nervous system. In order to 
force yourself to understand the problem better, imagine 
yourself to have received from the Creator an appointment 
of serving as his assistant, to have received the task of 
constructing for the benefit of a given animal a nervous 
system which will fulfill its needs. It is the same as in 
understanding any engine, a sewing machine, a clock. Put 
its pieces together so that it works, and you have made its 
function perfectly clear to you. 

If you cannot actually, materially, construct the machine, 
you can construct it by making a drawing, putting the 



66 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

elements together on paper. Design a nervous system by 
joining together reflex arches, as if you were the Creator's 
architectural deputy. That will make you understand the 
problem and at least some of the possibilities of its solu- 
tion. 

This does not mean, however, that you have any right, 
taking the interest of science at heart, to indulge in any 
fanciful designs of a nervous system unrelated either to the 
facts of the animars behavior or to the neurological knowl- 
edge of the time. You must, indeed, limit yourself strictly 
to the results of anatomy, histology, physiology, organic 
chemistry, etc. But where the knowledge of the facts by 
contemporaneous science is incomplete, you not only can 
but must fill the gaps by hypotheses. 

A scientific hypothesis has a double value. First, it satis- 
fies an intellectual person's practical need of understanding 
what he experiences. The hypothesis is not ''the known," 
but it is ''an analogy of "the known." Human as we are, if 
WQ do not satisfy our desire to understand things at least 
by constructing an hypothesis, we fall easily into the habit 
of completing defixiencies of knowledge by imagining mys- 
teries as causes. And secondly, a good hypothesis has the 
immense value of spurring us on and showing us the way in 
research, of pointing to a fruitful direction in which to look 
for facts whose knowledge may in the future be substituted 
for the analogies of which an hypothesis is constructed. 

What, then, will be the hypotheses of nervous architec- 
ture and nervous function by means of which you fulfill the 
imaginary task given you by the Creator? 



CHAPTER IV 

CoNCE:RTt:D Action pri:se:nts a Problem to the Archi- 
tect oE THE Nervous System. 

In modern discussions of the function of the nervous 
system a phrase is often found which we have thus far 
avoided. One hears much about ''the integrative action of 
the nervous system." This phrase means exactly the same 
as what is expressed by saying: ''Concerted action depends 
on the architectural and functional properties of the nervous 
system." It is likely to be misunderstood by an inexperi- 
enced student as meaning that the nervous system's only 
function is that of integrating, "making a whole," insuring 
the concertedness of the animal's actions. But the previous 
chapters have shown us the very opposite of integration. 
The separateness, the localness of a response to a stimulus 
is also a purpose of the existence of the nervous system. 
And the latter purpose is no less exacting in its demands 
than that of unifying the animal. 

What does "concerted action" ask of the architect of its 
house, so to speak? What is the most general demand 
made on the nervous system by concerted action? Is this 
not readily agreed on by all the parties to the contract, that 
some nervous current, no matter whence it comes, must be 
able to go to all those points where the contractile tissues are 
located which are to act in concert? Must not the leader of 
the orchestra be able to reach all, be visible and audible to 
all the musicians ? 

(67) 



68 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-OXE 

No one believes that this is sufficient, and that, this de- 
mand granted, all problems have disappeared. But, thinking 
of the problem of concertedness in the simplest possible 
way, this is certainly the most fundamental necessity. Some 
current must go to all those points. 

In the case of the jelly-fish — as to coming — ^ we saw that 
this current came from one of the contracting divisions of 
the rim, caused by the contraction itself ; and — as to going — 
that it went everywhere because of the conductivity of all 
the tissues. 

The question remains if this current would not be too 
weak if it had to pass wholly thru undifferentiated tissue. 
Now, it need be only weak because, as we remember, it has 
to hasten only, not to cause, the contraction of the several 
divisions. Nevertheless, it might be too weak. Then the 
Creator would have to come to the animal's aid as the 
architect and builder, would have to furnish it with dif- 
ferentiated conductive tissue. Turning back to our figure 
of the jelly-fish as seen from above, we notice there ra- 
diating nerve fibers serving this purpose. 

If the Creator has appointed you to place these fibers in 
the animal so that they serve this purpose best, you will 
probably connect them all in one point. You will make 
them all radiate from one point. Then good conductivity 
from any division of the rim to any other division is in- 
sured. 

Nevertheless the animal, if it can speak to you, its "bene- 
factor,'' and if it is wnse, will protest against this gift. Fre- 
quently external stimuli act upon the body and require, not 
a straightforward locomotion, but a change of direction as 
response. For example, the jelly-fish, while swimming, 
strikes a rock with one side of the bell. The jelly-fish then 
must change its direction. That division which touched 



NERVOUS AECHITECTXJRE 69 

the rock must contract more strongly than any other, especi- 
ally than the diametrically opposite division, in order to 
bring about the change of direction. Without conduction, 
the predominance of the action of the one division touched 
would be certain. But with perfect conduction to all other 
divisions it would be equally certain that no such predomi- 
nance of a local reaction, no local responsiveness to an ex- 
ternal stimulus, would be possible. 

We only repeat here. We have already referred to this 
fact, the impossibility of such a conductive system, in the 
second chapter, while discussing the life of our imaginary 
snail. 

Here is, then, the necessity for a compromise. And this 
compromise is effected in the jelly-fish by having the eight 
radial fibers not join in the center, but stop short before 
reaching each other. Thus undiflferentiated tissues, tissues 
of high resistance, are interposed to weaken the excitation 
coming from one of the^ divisions to such an extent that 
only one division can react strongly to the external stimulus. 
All others react only weakly. 

It is interesting to note that compromising, which is the 
very foundation of all social Hfe of animals, of all social 
institutions of mankind, is found to be an essential function 
in the individual life of any one of the very lowest animals 
which possess a nervous system. The unity of all organized 
nature, which is the fundamental concept of modern biology, 
is exemplified by this role played in any life, low or high, 
by compromises. Two conflicting conditions seem to make 
hfe impossible. But the problem would be hopeless only 
if a complete denial of the demands of either the one or the 
other were insisted on. On the one hand, concerted action 
calls for the most perfect conduction from any division of 
the rim of the bell to all the others. On the other hand. 



70 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

local responsiveness calls for the interposition of high re- 
sistances between the diametrically opposite divisions of 
the rim. The compromise must then consist in this, that 
all the divisions are connected by conductors, but in such 
a way that conduction from one point of the rim to opposite 
points is by the properties of the conducting medium itself 
more resisted than conduction to neighboring points. 

Nature has, as we saw, solved the problem by stopping 
the differentiated radiating conductors as far short of the 
center as the condition of local responsiveness requires, 
leaving in the center enough undifferentiated tissue inter- 
posed to meet this requirement. Another way of fulfilling 
the condition of varying resistance is by resorting to the 
length of the differentiated conductors without interposing 
any undifferentiated tissue. There can be no doubt that 
the length of a nervous conductor determines its resistance 
as the length of telegraph and telephone wires determines 
their resistances. The longer the conducting string, the 
greater its resistance. 

Nature has solved the problem in this way in another 
kind of jelly-fish, called hydromedusa. Here all the points 




NERVOUS SYSTEM OF A 
JELLY-FISH (HYDRO- 
MEDUSA). 



of the rim are connected by differentiated conductors form- 
ing a ring, as shown in our figure illustrating the nervous 
system of this species. If any division of the rim contracts, 



ISTEEVOUS ARCHITECTURE 71 

the excitation is by this ring conducted to all other divisions. 
But the excitation reaching opposite parts of the rim is 
much weaker than that which reaches neighboring ones, in 
accordance w^ith the varying length of the conductor. This 
difference in the intensity of the conducted excitation does 
no harm in the case of ordinary, straightforward locomotion. 
The rhythmical contraction is in this activity the result of 
the chemical constitution of the body which, perhaps, has 
been the result of lacking food for some time. This chemi- 
cal state differs but slightly in the various parts of the body. 
The different parts of the rim, therefore, would contract 
and expand in almost the same periodicity anyway. A very 
slight excitation conducted from elsewhere is then sufficient 
to hurry up any part which without this excitation would 
lag behind. Thus there is concerted action. 

But when a stimulus acts from without on any point of 
the rim, only those parts are. caused to respond strongly 
which are in that neighborhood. The other parts of the 
rim, receiving the eff'ect of the stimulus as a weaker and 
weaker excitation the longer the piece of the rim over which 
the excitation has to travel, are considerably affected only 
if yet rather near the point of stimulation. The divisions 
opposite this point remain practically unaffected by the stim- 
ulus. There is local responsiveness. 

The problem of combining undisturbed local responsive- 
ness with universal connection of all the parts of an 
animal's body by conductors of low resistance can therefore 
be solved architecturally in more than one way. Our figures 
of the two species of jelly-fishes represent two solutions of 
the problem, both actually found in nature. But the second 
solution seems the more perfect one, because the universal 
communication thru conductors is in this case more perfect, 
while local responsiveness is as satisfactorily retained as in 



72 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-OXE 

the other case. This more perfect solution of the problem 
resorts to the differences of the resistances of the conduc- 
ting paths as dependent on their varying length. We shall 
have to keep this in mind. 

The example of the jelly-fish has taught us that there 
must be a gradation of resistances. Imagine a sensory 
point called A and a motor point called B. If it is desirable 
for an animal's well-being that an excitation occurring at 
A be followed most readily by a contraction at the point B, 
the points A and B must be connected by a conductor of 
small resistance. Let us call those sensory and motor 
points which are thus connected corresponding points when- 
ever we need a brief term by which we may refer to them. 

If, as in the case of a jelly-fish or a snail, these cor- 
responding points are virtually identical, only different 
names for the same place perhaps, the conduction is a self- 
evident fact even without any special conductors. If, as in 
the case of the moth, A is an eye and B the muscle of a 
wing, at a distance from each other, the conduction be- 
tween the corresponding points must be mediated by a 
nervous string, or a chain of nervous strings, of the shortest 
length possible under the anatomical conditions. But all — 
or at least some — of the other, non-corresponding, contrac- 
tile points of the body must also be in some way connected 
with the sensitive region A. Otherwise no concerted action 
might be possible. The moth, for example, would hardly 
be able to alight on a twig or leaf which happens to impress 
itself on the animal's eye and towards which the moth must 
act, not only with its wings, but also with its legs, in order 
to alight. These further connections with the point A, 
however, in order to leave the connection A-B in its proper 
functional condition, must have a higher resistance, — as we 
have seen, must be longer than A-B. 



NERVOUS ARCHITEOTUEE 



73 



The shortest possible connections between corresponding 
points are exactly what we have called in a previous chapter 
reflex arches. We must now find a way of representing 
graphically those nervous conductors which lead from each 
sensory point to those motor points which are not corre- 
sponding. 

These conductors v/hich are not reflex paths must be, as 
we have found, longer than the conductors directly con- 
necting corresponding points. It is clear, then, that no good 
purpose could be served by representing the connections 
between non-corresponding points as they are represented 
in our figure showing two nested reflex arches. The figure 
is intended to demonstrate merely how^ neurological func- 
tions ougth not to be — but how they nevertheless some- 
times are — described. 



S'b 




K 



Sb Sa 



Ma Mb 



A WRONG DESIGN OF CON- 
NECTIONS. 



Let us agree that any straight line, no matter what its 
length, shall represent one neuron of standard length and 
of a unit of resistance. Such fines as S^M^^, which has a 
crook between its straight ends, are also regarded simply 
as straight lines, because the crook signifies nothing but 
insulation from the line crossed on the paper. All this is 
customary in such drawings. We then measure the re- 
sistance of a path in the drawing by counting the number 
of lines of which the path is composed. This number gives 



74 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHEE-ONE 

the resistance of the path in units. The conductivity is in- 
versely proportional to the resistance and can be measured 
by the reciprocal value of the resistance. For example, if 
a certain resistance is 4, the conductivity is i; and if the 
resistance is f , the conductivity is ^ . 

Now imiagine the connections between non-corresponding 
points made by nature as in our drawing. Count the units 
of resistance. The conductor S, SJM^M^ connecting the 
non-corresponding points Sj^ and M^ has not a greater 
resistance than the conductor S^S^M^Jlj^, since both are 
made up of three standard lengths, altho our requirement 
is that it shall have a greater resistance, a lesser conduc- 
tivity. We must look for a different design in order to 
represent the actual conditions of conductive connection 
properly in a graph. 

Neurology, that is, the anatomy and physiology of the 
nervous system as it actually exists and functions in animals 
and in man, teaches us an important fact which we ought 
to represent in any diagram of nervous connections. It has 
been found that the same two points (one sensory and one 
motor) are almost always connected in several ways, by 
shorter and also by longer conductors. For example, if 
pain is caused in a dog's foot and the foot is withdrawn, 
the nervous excitation may travel from the foot to the spinal 
cord and thence to the miuscles moving the foot. Or, it may 
travel from the spinal cord farther on to the dog's brain, 
.thence back to the spinal cord and now only to the muscles. 

In an early stage of neurology a merely two-fold con- 
nection, including or not including the ''brain" (a somewhat 
indefinite something), was supposed to exist. One then 
spoke of .two neural "levels" to which the lower and the 
higher ''nerve centers" (another rather undefined some- 
thing) belonged. The number of these so-called levels of 



NEEVOUS ARCHITECTUKE 



75 



connection was later increased to three, and three classes 
of lower and higher centers were spoken of. From three 
the number grew to four. And so forth. Today there can 
be no doubt that the number of different levels of connec- 
tion is very great. It may be among the hundreds or 
thousands. The total number of neurons available for the 
architecture of the nervous system is so great (five thousand 
millions or more) that in a human being certainly even a 
thousand levels of lower and higher centers are far from 
impossible. It seems best to keep out of this field of spec- 
ulation. However, there is no reason for thinking of the 
number of different levels of connection as being very small. 

He who thinks only of a two-fold connection of greater 
and lesser length between corresponding points, and re- 




A WRONG DESIGN OP A NERVE 
CENTER. 



members our requirement that the connections of non- 
corresponding points shall be longer than the (direct) con- 
nections of corresponding points, will readily suggest to 
us as a suitable design for the architecture of the nervous 
system our figure showing three nested reflex arches and 
additional neurons radiating from the center C. 



76 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-OXE 

In this figure we can travel from, say S^, to the corre- 
sponding point M^ over a longer route by C (four standard 
lengths), or over a second and shorter route (three standard 
lengths) avoiding C. And we can travel from S to a non- 
corresponding point, say M^, only over a longer route 
S^S^CM^M^ of four standard lengths. The same rule 
holds good for other combinations of sensory and motor 
points. 

Before continuing the discussion of the question whether 
this is a suitable architectural design for a nervous system, 
we may use this opportunity of making clear why we have 
drawn each conductor, each neuron, in the shape of an 



A> 




CHECK VALVES AT 

A MEETING POINT 
OF NEURONS. 



arrow-like rod. We can easily agree and remember that 
the point of any arrow shall mean that no excitation can 
enter here from any other neuron, whereas the split end 
shall mean that an excitation can enter here, but cannot pass 
out. In our figure with the lettering A-B-C-D three neurons 
meet in one point, D. An excitation here may pass from 
AD into either DB or DC, but no excitation can pass from 
either CD or BD into DA. It is as if a multiple check valve 
located at D allowed the flow of a fluid in one direction, but 
prevented the flow in the opposite direction. The facts 
known to neurology not only permit, but seem to force us 
to assume that the meeting point of two or more neurons 
functions like a chedc valve. 



NEEVOTJS AKCHITECTUKE 77 

Experiments have proved, it is true, that an excitation 
may travel in a neuron in either direction. But normally 
no excitation originates within a neuron. And with res- 
pect to the propagation from neuron to neuron, neurologi- 
cal experiment and observation seem to agree with the 
view expressed in our drawings. 

Everybody knows that our feet are connected with our 
eyes as well as with our ears ; of course, also with other 
sense organs. If a strange and ferocious looking animal sud- 
denly appears to any ordinary person's eye while he is sit- 
ting, he jumps up and starts running — on his feet. If he 
is sitting in the theater, and suddenly the fearful cry 'Tire" 
strikes his ear, he also jumps up and starts running — on 
his feet. That is, the muscles moving his feet are connected 
with his eye as well as with his ear. 

But his eye and ear are connected with many other mus- 
cles too. Else, for example, he would not turn his head in 
response to a friend's call or eat what is placed before him 
on the dinner table. 

Neurologist-s have discovei-ed in the brain the so-called 
motor region of the feet. If this region of the brain is 
artificially stimulated, the muscles belonging to the feet con- 
tract and move the feet. Suppose the excitation caused in 
the brain by this artificial stimulus could proceed, not only 
in the direction of the motor organs most closely connected, 
but also in the direction of sense organs ; then a good 
deal of it would go to the eye and the ear. 

The eye and the ear, receiving the artificially produced 
excitation from the brain, would send it on to many muscles 
of the body. It should then have been observed that in re- 
sponse to the artificial stimulation mentioned not only the 
feet, but many parts of the body moved. If such were the 
case, the neurologists would never have discovered the 
motor region of the feet. 



78 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHEE-ONE 

We are justified, then, in our assumption of a one-way 
propagation of an excitation from neuron to neuron, always 
''away from the nearest sensory points and toward motor 
points." 

The anatom^ical connection between neurons is of such a 
wonderfully elaborate kind, that it seems quite probable 
that the meeting points have some peculiar functions. This 
is quite likely to be one of them, — ^to serve in the manner 
of check valves. The neurons do not run into each other 
like wires soldered together, but the end branches of one 
surround in a curious way the end of the other neuron. 
This has been called synapse. The word ''synapse," of 
Greek origin, has exactly the same meaning as the Latin 
word "contact." The contact between neurons is of a 
peculiar kind, so much so that some have said it ought not 
to be called contact at all, — and have called it synapse. We 
shall speak of it again at a later time. 

We must now return to the question whether the design 
of our figure showing three nested reflex arches is vSuitable 
for the architecture of the nervous system. It would be, if 
we could restrict ourselves to thinking of only a two-fold 
connection between corresponding points, to thinking of 
only two levels, two classes of (lower and higher) nerve 
centers. But such a restriction is impossible. A concrete 
case w^ill easily show^ why. 

We recall the kind of concerted action which, in the pre- 
ceding chapter, we called "serial" action. Remember the 
example of the irritating insect sitting on your nose. Nature 
has enabled you to respond by a series of movements, be- 
ginning with easy ones, continuing with those which are in- 
creasingly cumbersome. If at any moment the stimulus is 
removed, the series of movements is discontinued. What 
will you do, if you have accepted the position of assistant 



NEEVOUS AECHITECTUEE 79 

to the Creator and you have been given the task of design- 
ing a nervous system which will make possible such serial 
activity ? 

First you will ask yourself if the condition of a -succes- 
sive occurrence of these actions can possibly be reduced to 
a condition of a mere gradation in the conductivity of vari- 
ous nervous paths. You wall recall that it is well known 
that many muscles of the animal body are so made that the 
contraction does not begin at the very moment when we 
have reason to believe the excitation begins to act on the 
muscle, but only after the excitation has had an oppor- 
tunity to accumulate the effect on the chemical condition 
of the muscle up to a certain degree. 

It is like balancing a plank on a fence post which is flat 
on top, placing an empty bucket on one-half of the plank 
not too far sideways to disturb the balance, and slowly 
pouring water in the bucket until the bucket spills the water. 
When will it spill the water ? The first few drops pouring 
into the bucket will have no visible effect on the plank. But 
after a while the bucket will become heavy enough to dis- 
turb the balance. The plank will tip and all the water will 
be spilled at once. "x\ll or none." The greater the rate at 
which we pour the water in the bucket, the sooner the 
bucket spills. If the stream running in is very weak, the 
bucket will spill its contents only after a very long time. 

Interrupting our thought here a moment, we may mention 
that an excitation on entering a muscle is often given the 
name of ^'innervation." This word has it origin in the 
thought of a ''nervous" excitation passing "into" a muscle. 
We can use the words "excitation" and "innervation" in- 
discriminately, for passing into a muscle (or gland) is the 
purpose of every excitation which has its origin in sensitive 
tissue. It is not customary, however, to use the word "in- 



80 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

nervation'' except when the excitation is discussed as enter- 
ing into a muscle. 

The innervation, then, can be said to accumulate in a 
muscle until its accumulation has reached that degree which 
the muscle requires before it contracts. 

Then we can indeed reduce the condition of a successive 
occurrence of movements to a condition of a mere gradation 
in the conductivity of various nervous paths. 

The sensory point on the nose must be connected by a 
nervous path of low resistance (that is, by a very short path) 
with the muscles of the nose, by a path of more resistance 
with the neck muscles shaking the head, by paths of further 
increasing resistances with the right arm, the left arm, the 
right foot, and so forth. 

Where the resistance is greatest (the conductivity lowest), 
the flow of the excitation is smallest. Where the resistance 
is small, the nervous current is strong in proportion. In 
accordance with the strength of the current, the various 
muscles receive a sufficient amount of innervation after a 
varying length of ''latency." This means that during a 
varying length of time the presence of the excitation, ac- 
cumulating in the varying muscles, remains ''concealed." 
It remains concealed until "the bucket spills." 

The strongest current goes to the nose. The muscle of 
the nose "spills" first, so to speak. That is, the first re- 
action is a twitching of the nose. The neck muscles con- 
tract second. Those of the rigth arm, the left arm, and so 
on, contract in the succession corresponding to the increas- 
ingly great resistances of the nervous paths. If, however, 
the stimulating insect is at any moment brushed ofif, from 
that moment the current of excitation ceases, no further 
accumulation of innervation takes place in any muscle, and 
no further contraction and movement are observed. 



NERVOUS AECHITECTUEE 81 

The three nested reflex arches with their connections by 
additional neurons at C, obviously do not make possible any 
array of nervous paths in accordance with the condition 
that every path from the same sensory point to another and 
another motor point shall have a different resistance. In 
the design a single path — we have seen — has the resistance 
of three units ; and all others (in the design only two others 
— but any number equal to the number of arches drawn, 
minus one) have the same, invarying, resistance of four 
units. If the stimulus acts on the sensory point S^, the 
motor point M^ reacts first (under the assumption made). 
But the motor points M^^ and M^ would not react succes- 
sively to the prolonged stimulation, but simultaneously. We 
must therefore look for another architectural design, if we 
want to fulfill the task which we imagine ourselves to have 
accepted from the Creator. 

A very simple consideration convinces us that it is a 
mistake to try to represent a nerve center by a point. 

In the design of a reflex arch the horizontal line repre- 
sents a nerve center. The lines falling down from it repre- 
sent sensory and motor neurons. The ''synapses'' belong- 
ing to the horizontal line may be regarded as belonging to 
what we wish to call the nerve center. This nerve center 
is, of course, a ''low" nerve center. Its two "synapses" 
may be temporarily considered as if they were a sensory 
and a motor point. In this sense we have in a previous 
chapter called them central sensory and motor points. 

Nothing prevents us from placing over a pair of central 
sensory and motor points an arch exactly like a reflex arch 
placed over a pair of peripheral (true) sensory and motor 
points. Nothing prevents us from placing over this second 
arch (the second story of the architecture, so to speak) a 
third; over the third a fourth; over the fourth a fifth; and 



82 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-0:^E 

SO forth, as long as there is any necessity, functionally, for 
going to higher and higher levels of connection. 

But if over a pair of central sensory and motor points 
a higher story is placed which consists only of neurons 
falling from a single central point, C, no further arch can 
be placed over this single central point. We have then 
reached the highest nerve center, beyond which no higher 
center is even thinkable. 

Everything we know about the anatomy and histology of 
the nervous sytem and about the behavior of animals con- 
tradicts such a conception of the architectural plan of the 
nervous system. If we wish to play out a trump, we can 
say that such a conception of a nervous system with a fixed 
ordinal number (second, third,^or higher, but fixed) attached 
to the highest possible nerve center is a flat denial of the 
theory of evolution. The evolution of the nervous system 
consists, in higher animals and'^Man, in the evolution of 
higher and higher centers, making more and more indirect 
connection, more and more varied combination, of the 
existing reflexes possible. There can be no limitation of 
this evolution. 

The higher centers must be arches just as the lower 
centers are arches. And the connection between any juxta- 
posited arches must be made by a center which is higher than 
either center of these two arches. The main feature of a 
center, in a drawing, is a horizontal line and never a single 
point. 

The principle of design for the connection of two (or 
more) arches by means of a superposed arch can be stated 
thus : In order to draw the superposed arch, always draw 
first its horizontal line in a convenient position, and mark the 
end points of this hne S and M. Then drop from the S 
point as many ''shunted'' sensory neurons (legs, so to speak) 



NERVOUS AECHITECTTJEE 



83 



as you have S-points in the story just below, in order to 
reach these S-points. And from the M-point of the hor- 
izontal Hne drop an equal number of motor neurons (legs) 
to the M-points just below this level. The accompanying 
figure shows the method of design clearly by drawing the 
arches the blacker, the higher the centers. 




5a 



Ma 

4 
4' 



A 

Sb 

55 
t 



Mb 
40 



A 



VK 



11 



A USEFUL DESIGN OF HIGHER CENTERS. 



The principle does not demand that there be (as in this 
figure) two arches, one above the other, both over the points 
SI and M^^:, tho in series, so to speak, not shunted. One 
arch SJ^S ^ M ^ M?- mi^ht suffice, according to circum- 

^ abc abc a o ... 

stances. It must be understood that in this special drawing 
no special demands have forced us to draw an arch with 
the roof line S^M^ This might have been left out. Nature 
can do the one or the other. 

It is also perfectly arbitrary with respect to the general 
principle of the design that we have left out the second 



84 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

pair of legs in the second story arch just mentioned. It is 
only our wish to illustrate serial activity which has made 
us omit the two otherwise possible neurons Si^ S^ and M^MJ. 
If this serial, activity was not, but some different activity 
was desired, and the latter demanded these neurons, their 
places could be filled. 

Where from any central point two (or more) legs branch 
out in the direction of an equal number of lower centers, 
we can conceive of them as so many neurons or as so many 
long branches of the same one neuron. Histology reveals 
both these methods as actually serving such necessities. 

The nervous system which we have designed, we have 
designed with the well understood intention, as we said, of 
playing the Creator's role in helping an animal to possess 
three qualities: first, that of being capable of responding 
locally; second, that of responding by several movements 
strictly simultaneously, the nervous system preventing any 
lagging behind or failure of a movement to occur, — pre- 
venting it by regulating the movements thru some common 
excitation reaching at the proper moment all the motor 
points concerned; third, that of responding to a given stim- 
ulus by a series of different movements in regular order. 
Our three-fold problem seems to have been solved. That 
is, we have seen, at least, the possibility of shifting the prob- 
lem from the field of mystery into the clear field of mechan- 
ics. 

First: if S^ is stimulated, more of the current goes to 
M^ than to any other motor point. The response is "local." 

Second: if vSj^ is stimulated, some of the resulting current 
can, virtually at once, reach all the motor points of the 
system, Ma, Mb, and Mc, to speed them up. 

Third: if S^ is stimulated, most of the current goes to 
M^, less to M- and still less to M„. In the last case there 



NERVOUS AECHITECTTJRE 85 

is only a single path leading thru seven neurons. In the 
preceding case the shortest path consists of five neurons, 
and the figure shows an additional, shunted, path over the 
highest center, making the total resistance less than five 
units. And in the first mentioned case the figure shows, in 
addition to the reflex path of three neurons, two shunted 
paths over higher centers, making the total resistance much 
less than three units. Serial activity is possible. 

Even a mechanical phenomenon can be made still clearer 
than it naturally is on account of not forcing our imagina- 
tion outside of the simple experiences of matter and motion. 
It can be made still clearer by applying computation. 

The arithmetical values of a computation in any situation 
in business as well as in school studies give additional 
satisfaction over the satisfaction derived from a mere 
knowledge of ''more or less.'' Or do we not prefer, for ex- 
ample, after having heard a tradesman assert that he sells 
shoes cheaper than his competitor, to hear him say that 
they are 50 cents cheaper? 

Let us, then, compute how any conveniently chosen num- 
ber of units of excitation distribute themselves thru the 
various channels of our last figure. The whole conception 
of a distribution of an excitation, let us mention by the way, 
is a rather recent discovery. 

Twenty-five years ago hardly anybody thought of a ner- 
vous process in any other way than of something roUing 
along like a golf ball over a rough field, striking here and 
changing direction, striking there and changing direction, 
without breaking up, always remaining the same whole ball. 
This conception has now become recognized as utterly im- 
possible. The nervous process is a current, a stream, last- 
ing as long as the stimulus lasts. The nervous current dis- 
tributes itself like electricity, or water, or gas in a city's net- 



86 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

work of distributing wires or pipes. A nervous current, 
having its source at a sensory point, cannot help going, ex- 
cept when stopped here or there by permanent check valves, 
thru the v/hole network of conductors, toward all the motor 
points. 

But the intensity of the current, in a real nervous system 
with its innumerable ramifications, must vary enormously 
in the various neurons over which it distributes itself. And 
the intensity with which its energy passes out of the nervous 
system at the motor points, must likewise vary enormously. 
Our simple design with only three levels of connection can 
nevertheless illustrate this difference of intensitv. 

Imagine that the stimulus is applied at S^^. The rule to 
be followed for the computation of the distribution of the 
excitation is a double one. First, from any division point 
count the units of resistance thru which the excitation 
travels in "series" (without ''shunts'') until it reaches the 
next division point. — Second rule : add to this number the 
total resistance of all the shunted branches leading the cur- 
rent from the latter division point on and out of the entire 
system. — Tn working out the second rule you may have to 
re-apply, perhaps many times, both the first and the second. 

From S,3 to SJ there is no division at all. Our com- 
putation therefore begins only at the latter point. 

Two questions: 

I. Resistance from S], to the right and out equals — ? 

II. Resistance from Sb upwards and out equals — ? 
Question 1 is easily answered. The answer is 2. 

From S^ upwards we apply our rules. We count 1 until 
we reach another division point in the figure, S^^^^. Then 
we have two more questions : 

III. Resistance from S^^^^to the right and out equals — ? 

IV. Resistance from S,^„ upwards and out equals — ? 



NERVOUS ARCHITECTURE 87 

From this point to the right we count 1 until we reach 
another division point. Then we have two more questions : 

V. Resistance from M^^^^ right down and out equals — ? 

VI. Resistance from M^^^ left down and out equals — ? 
Questions V and VI are easily answered. In each case 

the answer is 2, since we reach either Mj^ or M^ over two 
units of length, two units of resistance. 

The total resistance of these last two shunted branches 
must now^ be found. For this purpose we take the reciprocal 
values of these resistances. The reciprocals of the resist- 
ances indicate the conductivities or flux values. We add 
these reciprocals together. Then we take the reciprocal of 
the sum. And this is the total resistance of the shunted 
branches. Why? 

A simple consideration will show the reason for this pro- 
cedure. Think of the passage of an audience in leaving a 
theater being obstructed by the smallness of the number 
and the small size of the doors. Giving each door a certain 
resistance value, we can not add these values together and 
call the sum the total resistance. That would lead to the 
absurdity of : the more doors, the more resistance, — and out 
of a Chautauqua tent, being all doors, the audience could 
not get out at all, the resistance (obstruction by doors) 
being so great ! Of course, such a procedure in computing 
is wrong. 

But we can add the conductivities, the number of people 
getting thru every door in a unit of time. The greater this 
total, the less the total resistance of the doors. That is, the 
reciprocal value of the total flux, of the total conductivity, 
of the sum of the conductivities, gives us the total resist- 
ance. 

The answer to questions V and VI was 2 in each case. 
The reciprocals are i and ^. The sum of these is 1. The 



88 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHEE-OXE 

reciprocal of 1 is 1. That is, the resistance of all the shunt- 
ed paths from M^^^^ out of the system is 1. 

This leads us back to question III. The resistance from 
S^ to the next division point, M^^, was 1, and from this 
point on and out 1 more. So the answer to question III is 
2. 

Question IV refers to the path from S^^ upwards and 
out. Going upwards we counted 2 to the next division 
point, M ^ . And we have two more questions : 
VII. Resistance from M ^ right down and out equals 



? 



abc 



VIII. Resistance from M ? left down and out equals — ? 

abc ^^ 

Question VII is easily answered. Down to the right Ave 
count 1 until we reach the next division point. From this 
point out we encounter over all shunted paths 1 unit more, 
as computed above. The answer is the same as to question 
III, that is, 2. 

The answer to question VIII is still more easily found. 
It is 3, because we count 3 units until we get out of the 
system, without finding any shunts, at the motor point M-^. 

We now take the reciprocals of the answers to questions 
VII and VIII. These reciprocals are J andy. Their sum 
isf. The reciprocal of this sum is f . 

Question IV demanded that we take this sum, -|, and add 
it to 2. Two units of resistance from S^^ to M J^, and f 
more, result in a total of -5-, which is the answer to question 
IV. 

The answer to question III was 2. The answer to ques- 
tion IV was "s^. The reciprocals are ^ and A • The sum 
of them is ii, and the reciprocal of the sum is if. 

This value we must add to the resistance unit 1 in order 
to answer question II. The answer to question II is there- 
fore if plus if, or if. 



NERVOUS AECHITECTUEE 89 

The answer to question I was 2; and to question II, as 
just found, ff. At the first division point we thus find a 
resistance of 2 meeting the stream of the excitation toward 
the right ; and a resistance of yf meeting the stream of the 
excitation upwards. 

The flux upwards is indicated by the reciprocal if, and 
the flux to the right by the reciprocal ^, Using common 
denominators we conclude that the flux toward the right 
is indicated by |f, and the flux upwards by ff . 

Now, the denominator in no way concerns us. We are 
not interested in know^ing what kind of units the flux 
units are. We are interested only in the relative numbers 
of the flux units, that is, in the numerators of the fractions 
having a common denominator. It will make no difference 
to us (interested only in the division, the manner of dis- 
tribution, of the total flux) whether the units are barrels, 
gallons, quarts, fifty-eighths, cubic centimeters, or what not. 

We now know that, for every 29 units going to the right, 
26 units go upwards at this first division point. We naturally 
choose as the total number of uilits which we imagine to 
enter at the point of stimulation, the sum of the 29 and the 
26 units, that is, 55 units. No smaller or larger number is 
equally convenient. These values we write in our figure in 
the proper places, 55, 29 and 26. Look at the figure, and 
you find them there. 

The 26 units divide at the next division point in accor- 
dance with the answ^ers to questions III and IV. The re- 
sistance to the right is 2, upwards \^. The flux to the right 
is indicated by i, that upwards by ^^. In common denomi- 
nators j-g and /'q. That is, for every 8 units going to the 
right, 5 units go upwards. If of 13 units 8 go to the right 
and 5 upwards, then of the 26 to be divided 16 go to the 
right and 10 upwards. These values 16 and 10 we write in 
our figure in the proper places. 



90 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHEE-ONE 

The ten units of excitation go one neuron upwards, then 
one neuron to the right, and divide here in accordance with 
the answers to questions VII and VIII. The resistance 
right down is 2, the resistance left down is 3. The recipro- 
cals are -| and h The common denominator is 6. That is, 
the flux right down is indicated by 1; and the flux left 
dow^n is indicated hy f . For every 3 units going right down 
2 units of excitation go left down. The ten units in question 
are therefore distributed so that 6 go right down and 4 
left down. 

The latter 4 units pass out of the system at the motor 
point M^ without further division. We write the number 
4 under this motor point in our figure. 

The 6 units of flux going right down meet at the next 
lower nerve center 16 other units coming from the left, 
making here a total of 22. Half of them, 11, go to the 
right dovvn and pass out of the system at the motor point 
M^ without further division. We write the number 11 
under this motor point in our figure. 

The other half of the 22 go to the left down and meet at 
the next lower nerve center 29 others, making a total of 40. 
These 40 pass out of the system at the motor point M^, 
under which we write in our figure this number 40. 

The addition of 4, 40 and 11 gives 55. The total number 
of flux units going out must be equal to the number going in. 
This is a check on the computation. 

We now have the clearest possible conception of the 
manner in w^hich the nervous system distributes an excita- 
tion, resulting from the application of a stimulus to a sen- 
sory point, during its flow toward the motor points of the 
body. 



CHAPTER V 

The: Othe:r-Onk Appe:ars now Atte:ntive:, now AbsKnt- 
MiNDKD, NOW Inattentive). 

There is a joke about a man standing on a busy street 
corner and obstructing the traffic. The traffic poHceman 
approaches him and says : ''Move on, sir." He receives 
the reply : "It's your move, sir." 

The enthusiastic chess player, walking home, is still oc- 
cupied with his own and his partner's possible moves. He 
is ready to make one of these moves on the real chess board, 
and also ready to ask his partner (anybody) to make such 
a move, altho the stimuli which he receives from the street 
traffic are normally not responded to either by a horizontal 
and specially directed hand movement or by the vocal action 
of requesting someone else to make a horizontal hand move- 
ment. 

What do we call such an abnormal readiness to respond 
by a definitely limited class of actions to any kind of stim- 
ulation? A stimulus which is normally not responded to 
by a certain action should be called a stimulus "inadequate" 
to this reaction. What then do we call such a responsive- 
ness to an inadequate stimulus? We call it popularly "ab- 
sent-mindedness." And what is its cause within the nervous 
system ? 

Before answering the last question, some further illustra- 
tions are desirable. You meet a person on the street who 
knows you well. You expect him to respond to the stimulus 
of your appearance by an adequate action. You observe, 

(91) 



92 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-OXE 

however, that while passing you he looks you over from head 
to foot without saying anything or doing anything which 
could be called recognition or salute. That he wishes to 
offend you, to snub you, is improbable. He is ''absent- 
minded." To the action of measuring by the eye, or of 
staring, the fortuitous sight of an acquaintance on the street 
cannot be regarded as an adequate stimulus. 

A naturalist on the lake shore picks up things, examines 
them, and throws them away. He catches a frog in a net 
and takes him in his left hand. With his right hand he 
takes out his watch. After a little while he puts the frog 
in his vest pocket and drops his watch on the ground. To 
neither of these actions did the one or the other hand receive 
an adequate stimulus. The naturalist, we say, is ''absent-min- 
ded." What goes on in his nervous system? 

There is a widely distributed stream of excitation in the 
nervous system. It comes probably from many sensory 
points and obviously goes with the greatest intensity of 
flux in the direction of the motor point where the reaction 
is observed. The reaction seems unusual. That is, this flux 
ordinarily does not take this direction. If it nevertheless 
goes there, a temporary influence must have changed the 
conductivities — in favor of this motor point. 

In the three illustrative examples of absent-mindedness 
the nature of this temporary influence appears clear enough. 
If we make the necessary inquiry we find that the chess 
enthusiast is not returning from a two hours sitting in a 
dentist's chair, but from a championship game. My friend 
who gave me the cold looks, is not returning from a social 
affair of the college faculty, but from a discussion in the 
anthropology research club. And the naturalist has not 
spent the last hour in repairing watches, but in picking 
things up from the ground, examining them, and throwing 
them away. 



IITATTENTIOI:^ 93 

It seems that, when a current, coming now hence, now 
thence, for an hour or two hours (or even for a few minutes 
only) has taken the direction in accordance with the least 
resistance toward a certain motor outlet, during this time 
the resistances of the paths leading to this motor outlet have 
grown still less. 

One can see under the microscope, under certain favor- 
able conditions, that the small branches, the dendrites, of 
living nerve cells stretch themselves out or recede, like the 
branches formed by an amoeba. If this has a functional 
significance in the living body, it may be accepted as the 
only explanation or one of the explanations, and it seems 
to be actually the most plausible explanation of the fact of 
''absent-mindedness." 

The current passes thru a certain synapse, as we have 
already called this region where the dendrites of one neu- 
ron surround the end of another neuron. The prolonged 
passage of the nervous current may be regarded as a suffi- 
cient cause for the stretching, lengthening, of the dendrites. 
The resistance of the path in the region of the synapse may 
thus be reduced by ''improving the contact." 

The natural consequence is that these sensory points 
which previously could send only a small amount of their 
excitation in this direction, can send a larger, possibly their 
largest fraction, to this motor point. The result is a local 
reaction where we did not expect it, guiding our expectation 
by our knowledge of the "situation" and of the customary 
reactions. A situation is the sum of all the stimuli of the 
moment. We knew the situation to be inadequate. 

We are here attributing to the synapse a second function. 
In a previous chapter we regarded it as highly probable that 
the synapse region functions as a check valve. We now re- 
gard it as probable that the synapse has this second function, 



94 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

— of reducing its own resistance, and of reducing thereby 
the resistance of a whole path, after this path has given 
somewhat prolonged passage to a nervous current thru this 
synapse. 

How long must a current pass, before the reduction of 
resistance just spoken of becomes noticeable? After some 
hours it can be very conspicuous, as in our examples above. 
But even a few minutes may show. a strong enough effect. 
Every student knows how difficult it is during the first few 
minutes to follow the trend of thought of his instructor, if 
another course has occupied the student during the preced- 
ing period. We may call the student ''absent-minded" or 
we may call him ''preoccupied.'^ It means the same. After 
a few minutes the difficulty vanishes, and he becomes "ab- 
sent-minded" in a new direction desired by the new teacher. 
The efifect on the synapse, then, seems to make its first 
appearance already after a few minutes. 

The experienced teacher gives the student a chance to 
"warm up" at the beginning of the period. Athletes, too, 
take warming up exercises for a few minutes just before a 
contest. The valuable effect of reducing the nervous re- 
sistances in the desired direction is much greater to them 
than the undesirable effect of tiring a little the muscles need- 
ed for the contest. (This statement does not deny that there 
may also be advantageous changes in the muscles themselves 
during the warming up excercises.) After half a minute 
the original difficulty of doing the new^ work in the class 
room or elsev/here may already appear considerably re- 
duced. With the continuance of the current the effect grows 
steadily. After an hour or two the effect may become quite 
surprising, as in the above examples. 

The effect would be more ordinary, less surprising, if 
its cause were of more common occurrence than it is. As 



INATTENTION 95 

a matter of fact, being busily occupied in the same manner 
for an hour or two is a phenomenon which is relatively in- 
frequent among ordinary people. (Compare, however, the 
next paragraph.) For many reasons, too numerous and 
too varied to mention here, people rarely choose to be oc- 
cupied for hours by the same kind of strenuous life. "Let's 
do something else now," every few minutes, is not only the 
rule of life with children, but also with grown people, unless 
some outside force like school discipline, army discipline, or 
business discipline supersedes the instinct of the ordinary 
being. 

But the factory worker is not absent-minded when he 
walks home. Does he not perform the same movements 
for eight hours? And yet nobody would choose him as a 
sample of absent-mindedness. He does not appear "pre- 
occupied" when he leaves the factory. The reason why he 
does not show this efifect can hardly be sought in any other 
fact than that his work depends mainly on lower nerve 
centers. There is a differentiation between the nervous 
tissue making up the lower and the higher centers. Many 
reasons, pharmacological experience for example, favor this 
assumption. Drugs do not seem to affect the lower and 
higher centers equally. Neither does work — that is, the 
passing of nervous currents — seem to affect them equally. 

The routine work of a factory is not likely to involve 
very high centers of the nervous system. That seems to 
be the reason why it does not result in "preoccupation," in 
"absent-mindedness." The synapses seem to be the more 
susceptible to the influence of a current the higher the nerve 
centers in which they are located. Only there, in the high 
centers, do the dendrites seem to stretch out or recede ap- 
preciably, according as a current has passed thru them or 
no current has passed thru them, during so much time. 



96 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

It goes without saying, altho we have just said it, that 
the synapse increases its resistance by, slowly and to a 
certain limit, withdrawing its dendrites when no current 
passes thru them. The ''absent-mindedness," we know, 
gradually disappears, in some minutes or in some hours, 
especially during a period of normal sleep over night. 

The Other-One's behavior affects our life for one or the 
other of two opposite reasons. The Other-One may vitally 
interest us because he does something. The Other-One 
may vitally interest us because he does not do a certain 
thing. After having obtained a clear conception of the dis- 
tribution of a nervous current, in the preceding chapter, we 
can see a positive, affirmative, aspect in both cases, in the 
Other-One's action as well as in his failure to act as we 
expected. We have learned to think of any single nervous 
current as passing out strongly at one motor point, X, and 
weakly at all others. In such a case we report (for example, 
to a newspaper, or to a friend) that the Other-One respond- 
ed to the stimulus by a local reaction at X (some of his 
limbs). But we would be equally justified in reporting that 
the Other-One's local reaction at Y (another limb) did not 
occur; or that the Other-One's local reaction at Z (a fur- 
ther Hmb) did not occur. For example, after giving a 
newsboy a quarter for his newspaper and refusing the 
change, we may report that he said ''Thank you." But we 
can also quite correctly and truthfully report : "He did not 
stand on his head." Especially correct would this latter re- 
port be, if we had been asked by anybody — say a lawyer in 
the court room — whether the boy stood on his head. 

The affirmative aspect of the latter case, in terms of 
nervous currents, would be this : "One of the smaller frac- 
tions of the nervous currents went to the muscles which turn 
a boy from his feet upon his head." This affirmative state- 



INATTEISTTION^ 97 

ment implies that this local action did not take place ; that 
these muscles may have contracted a little; but that other 
muscular contractions were overwhelmingly strong. 

If a recent influence during some minutes or hours has 
brought about a change of resistances in the synapses such 
that the largest fraction of the nervous current goes to 
these muscles, then the boy will stand on his head without 
an adequately stimulating situation. Almost any stimulus 
will then serve this end. 

For example, he may have stood on his head much during 
the preceding hour, while attending a rehearsal at a circus 
where he cccasicnally is engaged as a clown. We later on 
the street give him a quarter, and he — ''absently mindedly" 
— now stands on his head. 

It helps us greatly in studying and comprehending the 
Other-One's life if we always remember that every form 
of behavior has both an affirmative and a negative aspect. 
There is always a response, in normal and waking life, to 
every stimulus ; negativeness of response then does not con- 
sist in nothing, but in something that is not the expected 
thing. In ''absent-mindedness'' the affirmative aspect re- 
fers to the fact that the largest of all the fractions of the 
single nervous current passes out of the system at a partic- 
ular motor point. The negative aspect refers to the (also 
affirmative) fact that at any particular other motor point 
in which an outsider may be interested a minor fraction of 
the current passes out. 

The traffic policeman expects the man to walk. This ex- 
pected response remains negative. Instead of it there is the 
positive response of strange talk. 

I expect my acquaintance to say: "How are you this 
morning?" Instead of that he silently looks me over. 

We expect the naturalist to put his watch in his pocket. 
Instead of that he drops it on the ground. 



98 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHEE-ONE 

In these cases we had to consider only a single current 
at a time. A similar statement to that made above about 
an affirmative and a negative aspect of one and the same 
event is to be made when we have two or more currents. 
This leads us from the discussion of ''preoccupation'' to 
that of a different phase of the Other-One's life. 

By a single current we meant a current coming from one 
sensory point. Of course, this sensory point may actually 
be something so complex as ''the eye/' including not only 
thousands of sensitive cells, but eve; both eyes. 

If there are two currents to be considered, if two sensory 
points are imagined to be stimulated, it can be regarded as 
virtually impossible that the two excitations are of exactly 
the same intensity. 

The affirmative aspect of the event then is this. Most of 
the current from the sensory point A passes out at the 
motor point X; and this outflow is stronger than that at 
the motor point Y, where most of the current from the 
sensory point B passes out. 

The negative aspect of the same event is this. Most of 
the current from the sensory point B passes out at the motor 
point Y ; and this outflow, is weaker than that at the motor 
point X, where most of the current from the sensory point 
A passes out. 

But in the Other-One's real affairs is this negative aspect 
negative enough to suit Nature's needs? A concrete ex- 
ample will make this question clearer. 

If the Other-One is a college student of the Fiji Islands 
sitting under a cocoa palm before a monkey and a college 
professor, these two performing simultaneously before the 
student, can the newspaper reporter truthfully report to his 
readers that the muscular reactions called forth in the 
audience by the performance of the professor were negli- 



i:n'attektiok 99 

gible, not worth mentioning? He probably can so report; 
but still more comforting to the Islanders and especially to 
their Board of Education would be his report that in the 
strictest sense there were no such muscular reactions, so 
that no harm could come to Nature's intentions from having 
in every monkey circus also an intruding professor lecturing 
from a pulpit on such a senseless thing as algebra. 

Nature, uninterfered with by the intentions and inven- 
tions of civilized mankind, ought, if she could, to object to 
such wasteful endeavors as algebra lectures, considering the 
educational advantages of a monkey performance, from 
which the student can learn the essential features of s!:ill 
necessary for getting cocoa nuts. 

The example probably suffices to make it clear that the 
builder of the nervous system ought to provide for some 
means by which in the given case the second stimulus (the 
professor) and many further stimuli also of less importance 
than the monkey can be made entirely innocuous. 
' Nature has indeed made such a provision. The stimuli 
causing the weaker excitations are made entirely innocuous 
by being entirely eaten up, so to speak, by the stronger 
ones. Nature gets rid of the wasteful influence on the 
students' Hfe by the algebra professor. Nature does this 
by forcing him to ^'compete." Now, what does it mean 
to ''force a stimulus to compete with another stimulus?'' 
An example of things which do not compete will make clear 
w^hat competing things are. 

A ship, -driven by several things — the wind, the current, 
the screw — , follows all of them simultaneously. We can 
find its place on the map after an hour thus : we draw first 
a line thru which it would move during an hour driven only 
by the wind ; from the end point we draw another line thru 
which it would move on the map during an hour driven 



100 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

only by the current ; from the end point we now draw a 
third Hne thru which it would move during an hour driven 
only by the propeller. The final actual result is the same. 
At the end point of the third Hne the ship is actually found 
after an hour ; only it did not move to this point over the 
zig-zag line we drew, but over a straight line called the 
resultant. But, let us say it again, the final result is the 
same. The place which the ship reaches after one hour 
under the influence of three forces is exactly the same as 
that which it would have reached if one of these forces had 
acted for one hour, the second force alone for a second 
hour, and the third force alone for a third hour. This fact 
we express by saying that those things which are studied 
in physics, whenever they are under the influence of several 
forces, are governed by the law of the resultant. 

The Other-One's mode of response is entirely different 
from that of the ship. If he attends for one hour a mon- 
key's performance and for another hour an algebra teacher's 
performance and then is given an examination on what 
happened during the two hours, the result is by no means 
the same as that of an examination given at the end of one 
hour, during which both the monkey and the professor per- 
formed simultaneously. 

We never speak of the competition of the forces of 
physics. Do not think of positive and negative forces in 
physics as competing. Never is one of them selected and 
the other one neglected. They are added together, and thus, 
by addition, the resultant is found. 

But we may speak of the competition of the forces which 
act on the Other-One. We may in other cases speak of 
their resultant. That depends on circumstances within the 
network of the nervous system. 



lISrATTENTION 101 

When we speak of competition, the selective effect of the 
Other-One's nervous system on the situation, on the totahty 
of the stimuH, is popularly called ''attention." We say that 
the college class gives attention, or that it cannot help giving 
attention, to the monkey performing simultaneously with 
the professor; and that the college class does not give at- 
tention to the professor during the monkey's performance. 

Nothing is more ordinary in the Other-One's life than 
events of this kind. He looks up, and many things are pro- 
jected upon his retina. But few succeed in being ''attended 
to," in being reacted upon by his muscles. When the Other- 
One reads a book, he cannot accomplish everything that we 
wish he could. He gives attention to the meaning and fails 
to notice the beauty of style. He is engaged to look for 
typographical errors, and we find with regret that he does 
not notice a lack of logical connection between two sen- 
tences. For each purpose a new reading is necessary. We 
do not expect him — because we have found that we cannot 
expect him — to write an essay while a piano is being played 
on one side and a crying baby occupies the other side of 
his room. Ask him to solve a problem in arithmetic, in 
order to save time, w^hile he is performing a gymnasium feat. 
He brings the reply that he cannot do it. A student tries 
to prepare a lesson while walking at a rapid gait. He does 
not succeed. The difficulty of reading during the motion 
of walking is not the main obstacle, for he succeeds fairly 
while being shaken just as badly in an omnibus. It is his 
own action in walking which competes with every other 
action. In the omnibus there is little such competing action. 
The Other-One listens to music, and w^e see him shut his 
eyes, excluding thus the competition of the visual stimuH. 
The examples could be continued indefinitely. 

According to the popular view, attention is an independ- 
ent force, a steersman who stands at the helm, so to speak, 



102 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

and changes the ship's course arbitrarily or by prearrange- 
ment. This is pure mythology. The enhancement and 
impairment of nervous currents, which are the concrete 
facts behind the abstract terms ^^attention and inattention/' 
are not the results of an independent force, but simply the 
effects of peculiar quantitative rekttions existing between 
these nervous currents. Why these quantitative relations 
of the nervous currents have on the muscular activities 
usually the effect, not of a ''resultant," that is, of addition, 
but of ''competition," that is, of selection, must now be 
made clear and plausible. 

An experiment made first some years ago by the biologist 
Uexkuell on a nerve-muscle preparation is so instructive, 
clarifies our thought by the simplicity of its details so much, 
that we must not omit it here. Our double figure shows, 
right as well as left, between the letters V and H the same 
part of the nervous system of a worm. V is the ventral 
cord, which corresponds in a worm to the spinal cord in a 
vertebrate animal. In the head region the ventral cord 
splits and surrounds the mouth opening, then unites again 
in the front region of the head and forms here the head 
ganglion, H. On the left and right sides of the head are 
muscles, called L and R in the figure. The essential feature 
of the nerve-muscle preparation is the cutting of the left 
branch of the head division of the nervous system near the 
ventral cord, at the point marked C in the figure. 

The experiment consists of two phases, the results of 
which are to be compared. The results are shown separately 
in the drawing on the left and in the drawing on the right. 
On the left the head ganglion alone is stimulated. This is 
indicated by the cross under it. The result on the muscles 
is exactly w^hat anybody would expect. P/oth muscles re- 
spond equally by contraction, since they are reached by the 



INATTENTION 



103 



excitation coming from the head ganghon with equal in- 
tensity. 

In the other phase of the experiment, in the drawing on 
the right of the figure, the head ganghon is stimulated as 
before. But at the same time the ventral cord is stimulated 
much more strongly than the head ganglion. This is in- 
dicated in the figure by the double cross at the point V. The 
result on the muscles is not an additive, but a selective re- 
sult. The left muscle, previously just like the right muscle 




+ 
+ 

DEFLECTION OF A CURRENT IN A NERVE-MUSCLE 
PREPARATION. 



somewhat contracted, now completely relaxes. Obviously 
none of the excitation from H can pass out at L any more. 

None of the excitation from V can pass out at L, of 
course, because of the gap at C. All of the excitation from 
V as well as from H now obviously passes out at R. In- 
deed the right muscle in this case is greatly contracted, 
quite contrasting with the relaxed left muscle. 

To the student inexperienced in the phenomena of the 
natural sciences this is very surprising, almost mysterious. 
To him who is familar with the natural sciences and their 
history this not so surprising. It is merely an additional 



104 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

interesting example of the fact that — if we are clever enough 
to see the law and order reigning in the apparent chaos — we 
find everywhere, say, in electricity, what we find in mechan- 
ics ; we find in chemistry what we find in mechanics ; we 
find in biology what we find in mechanics; and so forth: 
that is, that the laws of matter and motion are the funda- 
mental laws of all Nature, only growing more complex as 
we pass from the field strictly called mechanics to those 
other natural sciences. This experiment is a beautiful 
illustration fit to be incorporated in any History of General 
Science. 

A well known law of mechanics states that the pressure 
in a moving fluid (liquid or gas) is the less the greater the 
velocity. If the velocity becomes zero, the pressure reaches 
a maximum. And a moving fluid therefore attracts, by 
suction, another fluid which moves with a lesser velocity 
down to zero velocity. (The positive or negative sign of 
the velocity is here irrelevant.) 

This principle of suction by a current of high velocity is 
rarely thought of ; yet it is much used by those who do not 
think of it. Many are the various sprayers for perfumes or 
medicated substances. The farmer sprays in essentially the 
same manner his potato plants, cabbages, orchard trees, and 
so forth. The attracting current is in these cases a current 
of air. The physicist in his laboratory exhausts the air 
from a glass bell, the chemist from the space under a filter 
by means of a current of water served by the ordinary 
water supply system. The city dweller often by such a 
current of water pumps the river water from his flooded 
basement. In all these cases a current of small or zero 
velocity is attracted by a current of greater velocity, with 
which, of course, it must be somehow in contact. 



INATTEITTION 



105 



One can demonstrate this principle of the jet pump in a 
special form in which its analogy to the nervous function 
under consideration is clearly brought out. Our figure shows 
the sim^ple apparatus needed. Two parallel glass tubes 
lead, one from the water supply system, W, the other from 
a supply of ink, I, that is, colored water. Both tubes dip 
into the jar or other reception tank, J, for the purpose of 
keeping air bubbles from entering the glass tubes. The 
tubes communicate with each other thru another tube be- 
tween S, the suction point, and D, the deflection point. 

By means of the cocks at W and I the relative rate of 
flow between W and J and between I and J can easily be 
so adjusted that the communicating tube fills with ink up 



w 



(7 



^ 



D 



^ 



DEFLECTION OF A HYDRAULIC 
CURRENT. 



to the middle between vS and D, and with water down to 
this middle point ; and that an undisturbed current of clear 
water flows from W to J, and an undisturbed current of 
red ink from I to J. Now turn the cock W so that the flow 
of water increases shghtly, — and you see the ink rise in DS 
and give a rose color to the water from S to J. But the 
color of the ink from D down to J is still the same. 

Now turn the cock W a little further in the same way, — 
and all the ink coming from I turns at D abruptly up to S 
where it joins the water. No ink at all passes now from D to 
the left. This can be made very obvious by letting some of 



106 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

the water from the jar be sucked up as far as D. Then one 
sees red ink flowing from I to D and from D to S ; but from 
D to the left, where it formerly went, one sees water stand- 
ing still. The experiment in spite, or perhaps because, of 
its simplicity is apt to cause a great deal of astonishment to 
those who never before observed anything like it. 

If we compare Uexkueirs worm with this experiment, 
we find that the conditions are the same. The current from 
H to L in the worm corresponds to the ink current from D 
to J. The current from V to R in the worm corresponds 
to the water current from S to J. The conductive tissue 
between H and R in the worm corresponds to the tube be- 
tween D and S. In the worm, R is the suction point (S 
in the tubing) and H the deflection point (D in the tubing). 
All of the nervous current which tends to go from H to 
L is deflected in the direction HR ; none of it is any longer 
permitted to pass out at L. 

We recall now the case of the competition between the 
monkey and the professor. Each one causes a nervous 
current in the student sitting at their feet. For reasons 
which we need not discuss here the current caused by the 
monkey is the stronger current, — or we assume it to be the 
stronger current. Then the current caused by the professor 
is deflected from the course leading to its proper outlet, to 
the motor point corresponding, reflexly, to the sensory point 
stimulated. The student does not react to both the monkey 
and the professor, — strongly to the former, a little less 
to the latter. He may not even react to both the monkey 
and the professor, — vigorously to the former and faintly to 
the latter. He most probably reacts exclusively to the 
monkey. Attention, then, is deflection — partial or total — 
of a nervous current by another and stronger nervous cur- 
rent. 



INATTElvTTION 107 

Now the question may be asked if nervous currents are 
currents of a material substance, comparable — at least by 
not too remote an analogy — to currents of fluids as we 
study them in mechanics. An excitation is undoubtedly a 
chemical substance which might be taken in a spoon, if 
such enormous quantities of it as a spoonful could be 
separated and collected. 

Let us use this opportunity to tell briefly what physical 
processes have actually been found by the neurologists to go 
on in the nervous conductors. Whenever anything of the 
nature of an excitation occurs in a neuron, an electrical 
phenomenon is observed. But it is generally admitted that 
this electrical phenomenon is not the excitation itself. There 
is no such thing as an electrical insulation surrounding a 
neuron, which would enable an electrical current to pass 
along a neuron. And further, the velocity with which the 
excitation is conducted is almost infinitely small when com- 
pared wnth the velocity of electricity in its conductor. Dur- 
ing the time a nervous excitation is conducted one way and 
back through an elephant or other large animal, electricity 
can circle the globe. The electrical phenomenon must be, 
therefore, a purely accidental accompaniment of the con- 
duction of an excitation. 

It is highly probable that the conduction of the excita- 
tion is a process of a chemical nature. The substance of a 
neuron, consisting of highly unstable organic compounds, 
must be well adapted to the conduction of chemical changes. 
It is also well known that the conduction of chemical changes 
frequently involves, as a by-product, so to speak, electrical 
phenomena. Indeed these electrical phenomena accom- 
panying the conduction of chemical changes have been used 
technically and have become of the greatest industrial im- 
portance in the so-called accumulators or electrical storage 
batteries. 



108 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-OXE 

An accumulator is essentially a conducting fluid on the 
sides of which there are two related, yet different chemical 
substances, most commonly lead compounds. One of these 
substances has a tendency to take up a certain more elemen- 
tary substance ; the other has a tendency to give off this 
same elementary substance. The samic elementary sub- 
stance is one of the components of the conducting fluid. 
What happens is this : A stream of substance flows — or, 
whatever it may actually do, is imagined to flow — from one 
end of the conductor to the other, and this flow, the wander- 
ing of molecules or ions, as it is usually called, is accom- 
panied by an electrical phenomenon. We are probably 
justified in regarding the conduction of an excitation through 
a neuron as, not identical with, but at least analogous to the'' 
wandering of ions through the conducting fluid — the elec- 
trolyte, to use the technical term — of a storage battery. 

In the storage battery the electrical current is the thing 
we want, and the stream of ions is a mere by-product, 
hardly thought of by most people who use storage bat- 
teries. In the industrial process of electroplating the elec- 
trical current is the mere means without which we cannot 
work; but the stream of ions is the real end. We let the 
molecules of a gold salt, or silver salt, or nickel salt, wander 
under the push of the electrical current and carry the gold 
or other metal and distribute it over the thing to be plated. 
Thus in the industries we are sometimes more interested in 
the electrical current, sometimes more in the chemical cur- 
rent. In the function of the nervous system we must re- 
gard the chemical current as of fundamental importance. 

A few rather technical remarks should be made here, 
just in order to avoid misunderstandings. In any fluid, at 
the moment when motion begins, a relief of tension passes 
thru the fluid. This tension 'Svave" has a definite velocity. 



INATTENTION 109 

In the air we give the velocity of a tension wave the name 
of ''the velocity of sound." The equivalent (or analogy) 
in nervous conduction of this velocity measures probably in 
the neighborhood of a hundred feet per second. It has no 
relation whatever to the hydraulic velocity difference of 
which we spoke as being responsible for the deflection of 
currents. 

Further, the velocity with which an individual ion wanders 
thru its path, separating itself from one molecule and enter- 
ing another, is an entirely difi^erent thing. That velocity 
is probably very small. Whatever it may measure, it has 
no relation, either, to the hydraulic velocity difference re- 
sponsible for the deflection of currents. 

But the ''rate of flow" of the chemical substances, if it 
were measurable, would unquestionably prove to be the 
equivalent of the "velocity" on which the deflection effect 
in the nervous system depends. The rate of flow in the 
student's nervous system caused by the monkey in our ex- 
ample is greater than the rate of flow caused by the algebra 
professor. 

From one misunderstandable term, that of "velocity," we 
must unfortunately turn to another one, that of "inhibition," 
before we can profitably proceed with the Psychology of 
the Other-One. The negative aspect of the "attention" 
process might well be called "inhibition" if this term did 
not so easily lead to confusion on account of being used by 
the physiologists in a special and different sense. When we 
observe that the Other-One reacts to the monkey, but does 
not react to the algebra professor, we may feel inclined to 
say that his reactions to the professor "are inhibited." But 
the physiologists do not mean that by inhibition. 

They mean the fact that in certain cases a nervous cur- 
rent causes, pogitiyely, relaxation of a muscle and thus 



110 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

counteracts the effect of another nervous current tending 
to cause in the same muscle contraction. It is a case of 
''algebraic addition." The physiologists speak of ''in- 
hibitory nerves" when they refer to nerves which bring 
about the eft'ect of muscular relaxation. Since in the func- 
tion of the inhibitory nerves we have addition and a re- 
sultant, not competition and a selection, it is better to leave 
the term "inhibition" altogether to the physiologists and use 
in psychology with reference to "attention" phenomena ex- 
clusively the term "deflection." 

In life situations in which deflection is most conspicuous 
we usually say that the Other-One or an animal does some- 
thing "instinctively." The student "instinctively" reacts to 
the monkey instead of to the professor. The boy "instinc- 
tively" continues to play ball instead of responding to his 
mother's dinner bell. The broody hen "instinctively" sits 
on her eggs instead of scratching in the dirt. The bird 
"instinctively" builds a nest instead of taking a pleasure 
excursion over the landscape with a song obbligato. We 
can without much difficulty represent "instinctive activities" 
by an architectural design of a nervous system. First let us 
see more delmitely what the requirements are with which 
the architect has to comply. 

In instinctive activities, that is, in activities which the 
usage of language thus designates, we rarely, if ever, can 
speak of a local response. It is always a case of concerted 
action. If our interpretation here of the spirit of the 
language is correct, if "instinct" impHes also deflection, we 
have a combination of deflection with concertedness. 

The purpose of a graph is always that of aiding our 
grasp, our memory. Let it serve this purpose here. For 
the graphical representation of an instinctive activity in 
the architectural design of a nervous system we probably 



INATTENTIOISr 111 

choose best the activity of an animal. In general, analysing 
and simplifying a complex event is easier there than in 
human life. We shall draw an architectural design for a 
bird's instinctive activity of nest building. For simpHcity's 
sake we regard the concerted action as being nothing but 
simultaneous action of two motor points, the wings in flying 
and the bill in picking up, holding and dropping the building 
material. 

We restrict our discussion to the nest building activity 
of the female bird. Then we may assume for the drawing 
of our figure that one specific excitation (and no others, 
affecting also the male) is responsible for the concertedness 
of the actions of the bill and the wings. There must be a 
place ready to receive the eggs and capable of sheltering 
them. The nest must be built in advance of laying. It 
must be built (and is built only) when eggs are growing in 
the ovaries. We must assume that the growth processes 
in the ovaries act on a special sense organ as a stimulus. 
The resulting excitation we call the ''specific excitation" of 
the instinctive activity of nest building. 

In our figure, S^ represents the sensory point of the 
specific excitation. It is located probably in the ovaries 
themselves. The motor point corresponding and forming 
a reflex has not been given a mark in the figure because it 
does not concern us here. Only the absolutely essential 
points have been rnarked with letters. However, it might 
be suggested that it w^ould represent the muscle fibers in 
the arteries supplying the ovaries, and that this reflex 
would regulate the blood supply so as to be commensurate 
to the necessities of the growth of the eggs. 

The motor points M^ and M^ represent the muscles of 
the bill and the flying apparatus, which have to act in con- 
cert. The nerve center S^M^ unites them. The sensory 



112 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 



points corresponding to these motor points do not concern 
us here and therefore are left unmarked in the figure. It 
might be suggested, however, that the reflexes of the bill 
and the wings depend on visual stimuli, the sight of the 
building material and the sight of the branch of the tree or 
shrub chosen as site of the nest. 

The sensory point S^ represents all those innumerable 
sensory points whose excitations would better be deflected 
if nest building is to proceed efficiently, that is, properly 




Mb Mc 3d 

OVERFLOW AND DEFLECTION IN INSTINCTIVE ACTIVITY. 

Sa — ovaries ] 

Mb — bill muscles }-cf a bird. 

Mc — wing muscles] 

Sd — irrelevant stimulations 



and promptly. What the responses are, in life's ordinary 
language, called, does not matter. Any and all responses 
inessential or irrelevant to nest building ought to be pre- 
vented. vSince we do not name them, the corresponding 
motor point has been left tmmarked. 

Summing up : the specific excitation, which comes from 
S , performs two services, that of insuring by way of the 
center S^M ^the concertedness of the actions at Mk and M, 



i:^ATTENTION 113 

and that of deflecting by way of the center S'^ M^ all cur- 
rents coming from the bulk of the sense organs, S^. 

This leaves still one question. Why must the center over 
which the specific excitation deflects other excitations be 
higher than the center over which it reaches the motor points 
acting in concert ? Answer : otherwise it would deflect also 
the currents of the concerted action, and there would be no 
nest building. 

The currents of the concerted action must not be im- 
paired, but enhanced. In order to express this in theoretical 
terms, it seems necessary to introduce the conception of 
''overflow." 

This is a very abstract statement, in this paragraph; but 
it must be made. In electrical conductors the resistance 
rises with an increase of the flux, because the temperature 
rises with the flux unless there is special cooling. In ner- 
vous currents there is not probably any need of referring 
to any rise in temperature. But suppose that, just the same, 
the resistance is not constant, but rises with the flux; or, 
as we may say, the conductivity diminishes with an increase 
of the flux. Suppose further that' the higher a nerve center, 
the more rapidly the conductivity of a conductor diminishes 
with the flux increase. Suppose that thus in the highest 
centers the conductivity is small quite out of proportion to 
the increase of the flux in any theoretically considered 
problem. 

Then the highest centers will tend not to carry their share 
if there are any lower centers still available. This prin- 
ciple may popularly be called ''overflow." Its assumption 
seems unavoidable, absolutely demanded by the facts. (Of 
course, this statement is of the nature of a revision of the 
computation which we made in the preceding chapter under 
the simplest possible theoretical assumptions.) 



114 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

In our figure the dividing level between overflow and de- 
flection is supposed to lie between the third and the fourth 
center. The overflow of the specific excitation does not 
reach higher than the third center. From the fourth center 
on, the deflection can then become effective. 

Because of the necessary distinction between the effects 
of overflow and deflection, in any architectural design of 
the nervous system representing both overflow and deflec- 
tion, the highest overflow center must be lower than the 
lowest deflection center. 

It is then, of course, the Creator's business to make the 
difference in level between the highest overflow center and 
the lowest deflection center for each so-called "instinct" 
large enough, — safe for the proper execution of the per- 
formance. There are numerous observations, which we 
need not repeat here, of individual aberrations or perversi- 
ties in the instinctive activities of animals as well as in those 
of mankind. There does not always seem to be a proper 
margin of safety in the construction of individual nervous 
systems. 

Even a whole species of animals may become perverse. 
For example, the European cuckoo does not build a nest. 
The bird lays her eggs in the nests of other birds, generally 
much smaller, with the well known disastrous consequences 
for the hosts. But this leads us too far. 

He who thinks for the first time of the deflection, in the 
nervous system, of a current by another current, may be 
more struck by the effect which to some extent this has on 
the deflecting, than by the effect which it has on the deflec- 
ted, current. Why ! Is not the deflecting current strength- 
ened thereby? 

At the first moment this may seem surprising. Do we 
pay, to what we are occupied with, more attention on account 



INATTENTION 115 

of the little noises and the diffusedly lighted objects which 
usually surround us during our work. Then it ought to be 
advantageous for office clerks to typewrite their letters in 
an office noisy from the clicks of other machines, for masons 
to lay their bricks while a music band plays lively tunes in 
the neighborhood, for debaters to debate in a well illuminated 
auditorium where innumerable faces are in sight, for 
athletic teams to play their games in the noise and sunlight 
of the stadium. And indeed it is. Theory and practice 
agree. Sights and noises, to the extent that we pay no 
attention to them, far from being merely indifferent, are 
positively helpful. 

Careful experiments have been made by psychologists 
on the effect of exclusion of the ordinary, diffused, noises 
of the day, and exclusion of the ordinary multiplicity of 
lights and sights, on ordinary school work. Even in the 
school room such exclusion of all but the adequate stimuli 
diminishes the normal rate of activity of the school children 
to the detriment of their scholarly progress. 

There is no contradiction in the fact that the advanced 
scholar — let us think of Faust, the magician, in the theater 
scene — works better in a silent and almost dark room, or 
that midnight oil seems to help us in preparing for an 
examination. The advanced scholar, the thinker, for his 
progress needs to be, not only attentive, but also absent- 
minded, preoccupied. And noise and light would inter- 
fere with his preoccupation. But for the attention of 
ordinary busy folk the reduction of light and noise is in- 
deed-harmful. They are not preoccupied. And therefore 
they are exposed to the danger of a reduced rate of activity ; 
to use a' more striking term, to the danger of getting into 
a condition of boredom, sleepiness. That means the end 
of fruitful occupation. Every teacher knows it. A little 



116 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

noise and a little glitter on the side do not distract, but 
help. 

uThe college student who objects to a ray of sunshine 
coming thru the class room window to hit his nose and. who 
lowers the shade, may honestly think that he is preparing 
himself for listening free from annoyance. Actually he is 
preparing himself for sleeping more soundly. 

To take an extreme example, a very feeble-minded per- 
son, an idiot, can be easily put to sleep by merely placing 
him alone in a noiseless and fairlv dark room. 

We could not help using the word "attention'' in various 
shades of meaning which the usage of language has given 
to it. To describe human life purely in purposely defined 
technical terms is yet impossible, altho it is the ideal to- 
ward which we strive. Those shades of meaning become 
still clearer if we use the negative form ''inattention." The 
Other-One may be called — is actually called — inattentive 
in one or another of three different senses. 

1. Deflection. — The school boy who plays with a knife 
under his desk is called inattentive by his teacher. The 
teacher knows that he is very attentive — to his knife. The 
wrong kind of attention, in the case of deflection, is from 
the social (educational) point of view inattention. He does 
not do his duty. 

The psychologist speaks of attention, for there is a 
strong nervous flux. The boy is very active. 

2. Preoccupation. — The school boy who writes down his 
birthday presents, instead of the copy given him by his 
writing teacher, is from the social (educational) point of 
view inattentive. He fails in his social duty of action. 

From the psychologist's point of view he is neither atten- 
tive nor inattentive. That there is a certain stimulus to 
which he does not properly react, is to the psychologist an 



INATTENTION 117 

accident. There are many other such stimuli. Why em- 
phasize that one ? The boy is somewhat active, but ''absent- 
mindedly" active. 

3. Sleepiness. — The school boy whose eyelids droop and 
whose head falls upon his chest is from the social (educa- 
tional) point of view inattentive. He does not do his duty. 

The psychologist, too, calls him inattentive, for there is 
hardly any nervous flux. He is very inactive. 

That these shades of meaning, poorly understood, may 
have quite serious consequences in our social life, is ob- 
vious. The present writer recalls a case from his school 
days. One of his teachers, standing before the window, 
asked him suddenly if he was not inattentive. He was still 
looking at the blackboard, on which the teacher, two minutes 
ago, had written an important equation. He replied, quite 
honestly, that he was not inattentive. Thereupon the tea- 
cher, also quite honestly, called him a liar, j Here let us 
end the story. 

The cure for sleepiness is a wakeful environment. The 
cure for preoccupation is a more vigorous presentation of 
the proper stimuli. The cure for deflection is a strong dis- 
cipline which orders the deflecting stimuli to be left at 
home. Speaking of a cure, we of course take sleepiness, 
preoccupation and deflection in the sense of evils, in the 
social sense of inattention. 

But we must not forget that deflection and preoccupa- 
tion, when they lead toward a social aim, and when, going 
hand in hand, they lead toward the same social aim with 
vigor and consistency, are the true mark of genius. There- 
fore the highest genius is a person of discipline — as all 
biographies prove, — for without discipline deflection and 
preoccupation would not go hand in hand. The undisci- 
plined person might be a ''Bohemian" genius, but not a real 
genius. 



CHAPTER VI 

The: Othkr-Onp: Varies his Mode oi^ Reaction grad- 
UAi,LY OR suddenly: He Learns and Wills. 

A little girl had been fortunate enough never to have re- 
ceived any candy nor to have seen anybody eat candyO One 
afternoon a woman friend called on her mother and, just 
before leaving, gave the girl a piece of somewhat soft and 
sticky candy. When she had left, the Httle girl dropped 
the candy on the fire place and accompanied her action by 
the remark addressed to her mother : ''That woman gave 
me dirt." 

A few years later that same girl frequently boiled her 
own candy, pulled it, and ate it lustily. What had hap- 
pened? 

When she dropped the candy the woman gave her, a 
reflex functioned. A touch stimulus of a thing rather soft 
and sticky brings about a reflex stretching of the fingers, 
giving the candy a chance to follow the law of gravitation, 
and also a stretching of the arm, giving the thing a positive 
aid on its way downward. "But there came a time in later 
years when an injudicious person, on a similar occasion, 
took the candy out of the girl's fingers, before it had time 
to fall on the ground, and put it in the girl's moutH. It 
quickly began to dissolve and to act as a taste stimulus, 
and the reflex action resulting was a bending of many out- 
lying ''limbs" such as the fingers, arms, lips, tongue. „And 
the candy, instead of falling on the ground, was pushed 
down the esophagus. 

After that, when a piece of candy touched the girl's 
fingers, the fingers bent and held it, the arm bent and car- 
ried it toward the mouth, the lips bent and pushed it in, 

(118) 



OONDITIONED REFLEXES 119 

and the tongue bent and pushed it down the esophagus. 
The reflex ''taste-bending" had been mixed up with the 
reflex ''touch-stretching/' Something new had resulted, 
based on the nervous function ''touch-bending/' This ner- 
vous function, starting from a soft, sticky touch and re- 
sulting in a bending of limbs, is not a reflex. If it is not 
a reflex, what is it? 

There are some psychologists who like to call something 
like our "touch-bending'' a conditioned reflex. ''Bending'' 
occurs after "taste" as a reflex movement unconditionally; 
but after "touch" it occurs only "under condition" that the 
"taste-bending" reflex has been appealed to. 

Inasmuch as "conditioned reflex" is a clumsy term and 
could be tolerated only if we had no better term, we shall 
not use it. No serious objection can be raised against the 
old-fashioned term "habit." Literally habit means a gar- 
ment ; then also a form of life, a mode of conduct, not 
naturally grown out from the body, but put on it from 
without, so to speak. As in our example, habit has always 
in the usage of language signified the exchange of com- 
ponents among two stimulus-reaction functions, except to 
loose thinkers to whom it may never have meant anything 
definite.; If any student has the habit of thinking of a 
habit of conduct as a sheer mystery, then he should be ad- 
vised to clarify his thought by using the term "conditioned 
reflex," which would constantly remind him of the fact 
that no habit can be put on an animal except one whose 
sense function and motor function have already, in other 
combinations, been given to the animal by Nature. He 
who realizes this fact that "habits" cannot be created out 
of nothing, but only out of "reflexes," need not use the in- 
conveniently long expression "conditioned reflexes." 

Purely logically, we should expect three classes of habits, 
because two reflexes can be thought of as becoming so re- 



120 PSiYCHOLOGY OF THE OTnER-0:N^E 

lated that the motor function of one either (1) replaces 
the motor function of the other, or (2) is added to the 
motor function of the other, or (3) is subtracted from it. 

As a typical example of the third class can serve any 
graceful action which develops out of an awkward action. 
An action is called awkward when it contains superfluous 
muscular responses. The young scholar, or the illiterate 
person who late in life attempts to write, writes, so to speak, 
with his arms, his legs, and even his head, — not to mention 
the subdivisions of these limbs, the tongue, for example, 
which can sometimes be observed to ''try to help.'' 

Or, a person not accustomed to appear before audiences, 
walks awkwardly across the stage. Making superfluous 
muscular responses, as common in babyhood, he "stumbles 
over his own feet." 

When the Other-One, in his first attempts at performing 
an action as difficult as writing or walking, makes more 
movements than are necessary, we call him awkward. After 
he has ''learned'' to omit the unnecessary movements, after 
they have been subtracted from the response, we either say 
simply that he "does" the thing, that he writes, that he 
walks, and so forth, or we say, in certain situations of 
life, that he does the thing "gracefully." 

The variation of the total nervous path might be given a 
special name in this case ; perhaps the name of "motor con- 
densation." The giving of the name serves no other pur- 
pose than that of pointing out that there lies here a great 
field for future research. If we call it "condensation," we 
have in mind the fact that the nervous path, instead of 
spreading out while it proceeds to the motor outlets into 
many channels like a river with "a thousand islands," is 
condensed into one definite narrow location. In what man- 
ner such a "motor condensation" develops in the Other- 
One's nervous system, is as yet only a problem, not a known 
fact. 



NERVOUS CONDENSATIOISr 121 

The second class of learning consists, we said, in the 
motor function of one reflex being added to the motor 
function of another. Innumerable examples could be given 
from the Other-One's life. Sometimes a negative example 
illustrates most strikingly. A common deficiency of the 
Other-One, in not having learned to add a certain muscular 
action, is his often observed stooping, the failure of the 
muscles throwing his shoulders back and keeping his head 
erect while he is walking or standing or sitting engaged in 
some special work. 

Originally, in such a case of learning, the stimulation 
must of course be complex in order to make the response 
include the feature to be added. For example, we may 
in every situation have to "remind'' the Other-One that he 
must straighten himself. Later the same complex response 
is called out by a simplified stimulation. The reminder in 
our example is left off. The nervous activity then becomes 
similar to an "instinctive"' activity, for a complex reaction 
in response to a simple stimulation is, as we have seen, 
characteristic of an instinct. In order to have a brief term 
for this kind of a variation of the nervous path, let us call 
it "sensory condensation," thus referring to the fact that 
at the sensory end of the system of nervous conductors the 
flux (when represented reversely in a diagram) no longer 
looks like spreading broadly, but like being condensed in 
a narrow channel. 

An example, rather complex in all its aspects, but very 
familiar and therefore well illustrating our case, is the fol- 
lowing. In playing a certain piece of music on the piano, 
at a particular place in the music each one of several fing- 
ers has to perform a definite movement, — what movement, 
is indicated by as many notes as there are fingers to move. 
The beginner, in order to strike the correct chord, looks at 
every note. But after some time of practice, we observe 



122 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHEK-OI^E 

that he plays exactly the same complicated chord even when 
some of the notes, without his knowledge, have been erased 
or changed by us. Obviously these notes are no longer 
needed for the response, and a simpler stimulation now 
brings about the same complex motor response. 

Typewriting, reading, proofreading, weaving, attending 
to any machine, — any kind of skillful activity can illustrate 
this same kind of variation of the nervous path. The com- 
plex activity is ultimately called forth by a part of the 
original stimulation; sometimes to the detriment of the 
subject, as when a proofreader overlooks a typographical 
error, reading the whole word altho not all of the word 
is there to act on his eyes. 

The manner in which all this develops in the nervous 
system is no better known in the case of sensory condensa- 
tion than in the case of motor condensation. Here we have 
at present some of the greatest and most pressing research 
problems of psychology. 

Going back now to the first of those classes of habits 
which we distinguished on purely logical grounds, we should 
give further examples where the motor function of one 
reflex replaces the motor function of another. We should 
think of further examples for the following reason if for 
no other. Students sometimes believe — and even psycholo- 
gists have believed — ^that the relation of ''antagonistic mus- 
cles" plays a role in the learning process. It is true that 
a habit often consists in replacing a motor function by that 
of its antagonistic motor function. For instance, in a 
certain habit of avoiding pain, contraction of the extensor 
muscles of the right arm is replaced by contraction of the 
flexor muscles of the same arm. But this is a fortuitous 
circumstance. The muscular reactions in the next ex- 
ample are not antagonistic. 



HABIT FORMATION 123 

A horse, when it hears the crack of the whip, reflexly 
pricks up its ears. Soon afterw^ards the whip may touch 
its skin. This cutaneou§ stimulus calls forth a forward 
locomotion, a ''start." The start thus produced is a reflex. 
Later the crack of the whip stimulating the ear calls forth 
the forward locomiOtion. That then is a habit. 

A baby sees a candle flame. Reflexly he stretches his 
finger toward the flame. The heat begins to act on the 
finger ; and the arm is withdrawn. Sight-stretching is one 
reflex; heat-bending is the other reflex; sight-bending is 
the habit. The motor functions are again antagonistic; 
but that is fortuitous. What is different in this case from 
the other two examples of ''replacement'' is the fact that 
here the two nervous currents of the reflexes can hardly 
help being simultaneous for a considerable time. In the 
other two examples the currents succeeded each other. 

Let us take an example of habit formation from the 
college recitation room. The professor pronounces a ques- 
tion. This is a stimulus acting on the student's ear. The 
student responds by saying "I don't know." Now, this 
function "sound-speech" in this case is no reflex. The nerv- 
ous functions which play the larger role in the class room 
are naturally not reflexes, but habits which have resulted 
from the student's reflexes during many years of previous 
schooling. But we can here regard the response "I don't 
know" as if it were a reflex response. The manner in which 
habits are derived from other habits is exactly the same as 
that in which habits are derived from reflexes. 

After this answer of the student, the professor in the 
natural course of events produces the second stimulus by 
pronouncing the statement which makes the right answer to 
the previous question. And the student, if he is the right 
kind of student, imitates this statement, not necessarily 
aloud, but by speaking to himself, or by writing. The case 



124 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 



is exactly the same as if we had two reflexes ''question- 
negative answer'' and "statement-positive answer/' The 
resulting habit is ''question-positive answer." In this case 
the two original nervous currents are again successive as 
in the first two examples. 

In the case of a replacement of one motor function by 
another it is as in the other two classes of habits a pressing 
problem of present and future research to know what really 
happens in the nervous system. The case of replacement 
of a motor function appears simpler — it is doubtful if it 
actually is simpler — than either of the cases of condensation 
of the nervous path. Therefore we might at least here 
make a conjecture by the aid of a diagram showing the 
two reflexes. If it does not fully explain the formation 
of the habit, at least it will suggest an approach to the 
solution of the problem to the student who wishes to be- 
come an investigator. It will show him, too, how much 
knowledge of physics, chemistry, and biology he will need 
for that purpose. 

In the figure "Learning, a Function of two Reflexes 
Combined" let us see what neurons conduct the excitation 




LEARNING, A FUNCTION OF TWO 
REFLEXES COMBINED. 



whenever Sh is alone stimulated. They are, eight in num- 
ber, marked in "broad" lines, partly black, partly double. 
On the other hand, the neurons which function when S. 



RESIST AlSrCE CHAISTGES 125 

alone is stimulated, are all marked in "single" lines, partly 
fine, partly black. 

Now, it is quite indispensable, from all we know of the 
Other-One's life, to assume that "a flux passing thru a 
neuron reduces its resistance (not much at once, but still 
reduces its resistance), and that this reduction very, very 
gradually disappears, but even in many years not entirely. 
This reduction of resistance, that is, increase of conduc- 
tivity, is therefore very different from that which we have 
attributed to an improved contact in the synapses, and 
which can generally and ^ normally by proper methods be 
caused to be completely gone in a few minutes. ''Preoccu- 
pation" is something entirely different from habit, at least 
in a normal being, — in certain neuroses, abnormalities, 
which we shall discuss in a later chapter, the distinction 
may become difficult. The reduction of resistance with 
which we are at present concerned is clearly a change in 
the permanent chemical properties of the neuron. 

We said that when Sb is stimulated, the excitation takes 
its path over the black and the double lines. A moment 
ago, let us assume, Sa was stimulated, and the excitation, 
took its path over the black and the fine lines. Therefore, 
when the excitation coming from Sb reduces the resist- 
ance in all the neurons thru which it passes, the resistance 
of the neurons drawn in black lines not merely begins to 
be reduced, but is further reduced. In the total system of 
the figure the neurons drawn in black lines thus suffer a 
relatively greater increase of their conductivity than all 
the others under these circumstances. 

This means an increased importance, as conductor, of 
the higher center at the expense of the lower nerve centers. 
We draw this conclusion because, without it, we can give 
no explanation whatsoever of the learning process. But 
this conclusion is not self-evident. Let us fully realize it. 



126 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

Many are the assumptions which have to be made if we 
w^ant to demonstrate with mathematical certainty that the 
higher center will finally have a lower resistance than either 
of the low centers. For example, it seems necessary to 
assume that the neurons of higher centers are more change- 
able under the influence of a flux of given strength than 
the neurons of lower centers. (This recalls the two assump- 
tions of other differences between lower and higher centers 
made in the preceding chapter.) It counteracts the com- 
parative weakness of the ''higher" currents, and the com- 
parative strength of the 'lower" currents, at the start. 
For this assumption certain neurological facts could be re- 
ferred to as favoring it. But for other necessary assump- 
tions, one way or another, of an anatomical nature, our 
present knowledge is quite insufficient as a guide. Our 
diagram is of course a mere sketch. We therefore conclude 
quite dogmatically, but with the intention of arousing in- 
terest in the research problems implied, that virtually no 
current will finally go over the lower center. All will go 
over the black lines of the diagram. And always, in case 
of any stimulation, the two motor points will receive equal 
amounts of the nervous flux. 

Thus far we can already speak of a habit established, a 
habit of concertedness of certain actions. It would be a 
habit of the class of sensory condensation. But it would 
not be a habit of the class of replacement of one motor 
function by another. 

But now assume that the stimulation of one of the two 
sensory points is always stronger than that of the other 
reflex. Assume the stimulation of Sb — it makes no dif- 
ference here which point we choose — to be the stronger 
one. Then the path M.\ Mb would, suffer a greater increase 
of conductivity than the path M.\ Ma. Let this change be 
repeated, be continued, long enough. Finally the path lead- 



HABIT FUNCTIOXING 127 

ing from the higher center to the motor point Ma would 
be of no account as a conductor. All the flux coming down 
from the higher center w^ould go to Mb. 

Now combine these two changes : ( 1 ) All the current 
from. either sensory point goes to the higher center. (2) 
All the current from the higher center goes to Mb. 

The passing of the current from Sa to Mb then is what 
wCs^mean by the functioning of the established habit. And 
the three essential conditions of its acquisition, let us not 
forget, were these : 

I. Neurons must be capable of undergoing a lasting 
change in their conductivity in consequence of a nervous 
current passing thru them. 

II. The period of time, within which both reflexes must 
function, is Hmited. (The greater the time interval between 
the two reflex functions, the weaker the resulting habit.) 

III. One of the reflex currents must be stronger than 
the other. 

The last two of these three conditions are purely cir- 
cumstantial. But the first is a property of the nervous tis- 
sue essential to its service in the Other-One's body. There- 
fore we shall give it special consideration a little further 
on. Let us see fi.rst how the last two conditions are realized 
in the sample cases. 

The teacher makes a statement, and the pupil pronounces 
it. This we regard as a reflex, altho it is a habit. The 
teacher asks a question, and the pupil responds "I don't 
know." This we regard as another reflex, altho it is a 
habit. Usually, however, the latter reflex or habit comes 
first. Usually the question precedes the statement. But 
not necessarily. 

For example, the teacher enters the class and says — first 
stimulation — ''Three times three?" with the rising inflection 
characteristic of every question. A little later the teacher 



128 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHEE-ONB 

says — second stimulation — ''Nine !" with the emphasis char- 
acteristic of every statement. We know perfectly that if 
he says ''Three times three?'' today and "Nine!'' tomorrow, 
this wilL be without consequence. But if he says "Three 
times three?" a few seconds before — or (less usual) after — 
saying "Nine !" it is likely to have the consequence of form- 
ing the habit "Three times three is nine" or "Nine equals 
three times three." 

However, he must say "Nine" more emphatically. He 
pronounces it with the falling inflection. If he pronounces 
it merely like a casual remark, hke something relatively un- 
important, like a mere question, like "Has anybody a pin?", 
instead of like a statement, no desired consequence is likely 
to happen. One current — and this one — must be stronger 
than the other. If they were equally strong, the pupil 
would develop to be as ready to say "I don't know" as to 
say "Nine," and thus might say neither. And that result 
does not satisfy a teacher, altho it satisfies some pupils, 
who refer to it, in the school jargon,- by the ridiculous 
phrase : "I know it, but I can't express it." / 

Let us turn to analysing in the same manner the example 
of the candiless girl. The touch followed by the stretching 
movement is one reflex. The taste followed by the bend- 
ing movement is the other. vSweet taste stimuli were. by 
no means rare in that girl's life, but they (that is, those 
which were powerful) were intentionally, for a long time, 
kept from occurring in temporal nearness w^ith a "candy 
touch" stimulus (and of course any other non-taste "candy" 
stimuli, sight stimuli especially, which for simplicity's sake 
we leave out of the discussion). Therefore no consequence 
resulted, and the reflex of responding to the touch by shak- 
ing ofif this sort of thing was retained. 

And secondly, if the taste had not been so powerful, no 
consequence would have occurred either. It is a fact that 



CONDITIOlSrS- OF HABIT FOKMATIO:^ 129 

in the girl's life weak sweet taste stimuli sometimes occurred 
together wath touch stimuli of the kind in question. Since 
they were w^eak, no consequence resulted. 

As soon as the two conditions were fulfilled, and a 
powerfuLtaste was permitted to accompany the touch, the 
candy eating habit began to establish itself. 

Now let us turn to the example of the horse. The whip 
cracks, and the ear moves. That is one reflex. The skin 
in a certain spot is compressed, and the legs stretch. That 
is the other reflex. If the skin stimulus had been the 
weaker one, the habit of starting on hearing the whip would 
not have been established. Neither would the habit have 
been established if between the cracking sound and the 
compression on the skin there had always been a time in- 
terval of a minute or more. 

It may be said that the same habit could have been — can 
at any time be — established by applying the sound to the 
ear and the pressure to the skin at the same moment. We 
shall say a little more about simultaneity of stimulation in 
connection with the next example. 

Burnt child dreads the fire — proverbially. Sight of a 
flame followed by stretching of the arm is one reflex. 
Burning followed by bending is the other reflex. That the 
burning stimulus is the more powerful of the two, nobody 
will question. Sight most probably continues to act as a 
stimulus while the burning produces the bending move- 
ment. The stronger of the two simultaneous nervous cur- 
rents then deflects the weaker one. In the last figure let us 
regard the black and double fines as indicating the stronger 
current. The weaker current would go in the main to the 
motor Doint nearest the end of the fine fine. But if most or 
even all of this current is deflected by the simultaneous 
strong current, very little or no current flows in this 
direction, from Sa to Ma, while the two stimuli are simul- 



loO PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

taneous. It is in this case even easier than in the case of 
purely successive stimulation to understand why the long 
path (from Sa to Mb) from the sensory point of one reflex 
arch to the motor point of the other reflex arch should 
finally have a lesser resistance than either of the short 
sensory-motor paths. Thus the habit is formed. The Other- 
One learns. Of course, habit formation and process of 
learning are synonyms. 

We must return now to the discussion of the fact that 
neurons in general have a capacity of suffering a lasting 
increase of conductivity in consequence of a nervous flux 
occurring in them. When in life we have in mind that 
a thing is capable of being changed by another thing, we 
often refer to the fact by saying that the thing is suscep- 
tible to the other. If, for example, a person's intestinal 
canal is materially changed by the introduction of cholera 
germs into the stomach, we say that the person's intestinal 
canal is susceptible of alteration by cholera germs, or that 
the person is susceptible to the cholera disease. 

We may use the same term "susceptibility" with reference 
to the fact that a neuron slowly adapts itself to carry a 
nervous flux better in consequence of having carried it. 
The adaptation, being a biologic-chemical adaptation, can 
for that very reason be expected to be a lasting one. We 
know, or at least, we do not doubt, that immunity to a dis- 
ease is a chemical adaptation and that it lasts. But while 
learning has a "lasting" effect in comparison with preoc- 
cupation, which rarely lasts to the next day or even hour, 
yet the effect is not lasting in an absolute sense. 

The contact improvement of the synapses (preoccupa- 
tion), which normally does not last beyond some minutes, 
differs from the adaptation of the neurons due to their sus- 
ceptibility also in this respect, that it establishes itself 
quickly, whereas a true habit estabHshes itself more slowly. 



LEARNIT^G BY EEPETITION 131 

An initial spurt in learning something is as likely to be the 
effect of a mere 'Varming up/' of preoccupation estab- 
lishing itself and reducing the possibility of undesirable 
deflecting currents as of a pecuHarly quick rise of the 
true learning curve. But the discussion of such details 
carries us beyond the scope of this book. 

Nevertheless a brief answer should here be given in reply 
to the question: ''What is the form of the true learning 
curve ?'' 

One must expect that the magnitude of this change of 
conductivity due to the susceptibility of neurons depends on 
two factors, the intensity and the duration of the nervous 
current. The intensity is difficult to control. To make the 
stimuli very strong, is usually not practicable. The use of 
preoccupation for strengthening the current is in general 
unreliable because it depends on an individual factor. To 
strengthen the essential nervous current by providing other 
and inessential ones, weak enough to be deflected and cap- 
tured, and at the same time to keep the latter from growing 
and deflecting the former, is often difficult. Therefore one 
depends in school and out of school chiefly on the duration 
of the currents acting on the susceptibility. And duration 
obviously means here .simply repetition, since in the single 
intercourse of two reflexes the duration can rarely be pro- 
longed. 

Learning curves therefore represent time (or the num- 
ber of repetitions) in the horizontal co-ordinate and the 
changing efficiency of the motor function in the vertical co- 
ordinate. Our figure shows us a typical learning curve, 
rising first quickly, later more slowly. A necessary infer- 
ence from this behavior of the curve is that in a con- 
tinuous process of learning, lasting, say, half an hour, the 
first few minutes are the most valuable part of the exercise. 
During the following minutes less and less is gained in 



132 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-OI^E 

efficiency, and the last few minutes of the half hour add 
so little to the result that we might just as well have stopped 
earlier. 




LEARNING DEPENDENT ON TIME. 

This fact is established beyond doubt by experiment and 
agrees also with the ordinary experience of any one who 
has to practice anything, for example, the school-boy mem- 
orizing a foreign vocabulary. To read over the whole task 
five minutes a day for a sufficient number of days to com- 
plete it, is far more economical with regard to the total 
time required, than to complete the task in one continuous 
memorizing. If we continue the process only for five min- 
utes, we do not make use of the uneconomical time part of 
the curve, toward the right. 

We know that the opposite of learning, forgetting, is of 
as much consequence in actual life as learning. If we call 
forgetting the opposite of learning, we should do so ex- 
clusively in one sense, only with reference to "negative sus- 
ceptibility." (The next paragraph will explain this term.) 
In other senses ''forgetting'' would be a mere synonym of 
''inattention" in the three social meanings of this word 
which we enumerated in the preceding chapter. A night 
watchman may "forget" to lock the door because he was 
sleepy. We may on leaving the house "forget" to lock the 
door because of preoccupation, or in consequence of another 
stimulus causing deflection from its path of the "locking" 
current at the critical moment. 

We have just used the term "negative susceptibility" as 
meaning that the "reduced" resistance of any nervous con- 



LEAENIISTG AND FORGETTII^G 



133 



ductor 'Very slowly rises again to its original measure." 
Since ''negative susceptibility'' is thus the capacity of a 
neuron for an adaptation to lack of function, its capacity 
for an adaptation to function may, by contrast, be called 
"positive susceptibility'' as well as simply susceptibility. 



Time 
— ^ 



FORGETTING DEPENDENT 
ON TIME. 



The forgetting curve as shown in our first "forgetting" 
figure falls first quickly, later more slowly. This behavior 
refers only to the effect of the negative, susceptibility. 
During the first few seconds or minutes directly following 



Time 



FORGETTING DEILAYED 
BY PREOCCUPATION. 



a period of practice, there seems to be virtually no forget- 
ting, and one might therefore be inclined to draw the for- 
getting curve as it is drawn in the second diagram going 
under this name, remaining almost on a level for a short 
time before it quickly falls. 



134 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

This, however, is probably not a true forgetting curve. 
The lack of ''forgetting'' during the initial period is prob- 
ably due to the preoccupation, that is, to still continued con- 
tact improvement in the synapses. The preoccupation dis- 
appears rather suddenly, and the curve then falls. The 
ordinate values of this curve thus represent, not one vari- 
able, but the sum of two variables. 

We have had to speak in this chapter of a new property, 
not mentioned in the previous chapters, of conductive tissue, 
namely, its positive and negative susceptibility. This seems 
to be a proper occasion for making some further state- 
ments about the very differentiation of conductive tissue. 
An increase of conductivity of some neurons over the con- 
ductivity possessed by others is in a certain sense a con- 
tinuation of differentiation. The differentiation, however, 
procedes along still another line. It leads to a distinction 
of neurons having a specially high "conductivity for a par- 
ticular quality of flux" from all other neurons, which then 
have for this quality of flux only a more moderate con- 
ductivity. Innumerable facts of ordinary life, not to speak 
of experiments made in the laboratory, tell us that there is 
"specific'' in addition to "general" conductivity. When- 
ever the term "resistance" is more suitable for the dis- 
cussion than "conductivity," "specific resistance" (low) 
and "general resistance" (high) are to be distinguished. 
This is not a hypothesis, but a terminology needed for the 
description of the most ordinary facts of the Other-One's 
behavior. 

We stimulate a definite area, say, the fovea, of the Other- 
One's retina with a properly placed piece of red paper. He 
responds by saying "red." We substitute a green paper. The 
Other-One responds by saying "green." Different muscles 
have acted. How could different muscles act when the 
same sensitive cells were stimulated? Now, unquestionably 



SPECIFIC iiesista:n^ce 135 

the chemical changes in those same sensitive cells — the 
excitations — were different in the two cases. Nobody doubts 
that. It follows logically, that each excitation found the 
least resistance in the direction toward a particular motor 
point simply because it was of this specific chemical nature, 
and not of another one. 

How is it possible for a single conductor to have several 
specific resistances, different for different qualities of flux? 
We can understand this without great difficulty. A nerv- 
ous current, as we have previously said, is probably a wan- 
dering of ions. In a highly complex chemical substance like 
that which makes up nervous tissue, many kinds (hundreds 
or even thousands) of molecules may serve as ions. This 
is something like the streaming in filtering and in osmosis, 
but even more complicated than such processes. 

The assumption of specific resistances is a brief expression 
of the fact that the motor outlet of a nervous current is 
often determined by the quality of the fiux and not merely 
by the anatomical condition of the fiux taking its origin in 
a particular sensory point. 

(For the reader who is not an ordinary student it may 
be said here that the author of this book has shown else- 
where — The Fundamental Laws of Human Behavior, pp. 
158-167, — that the distinction of a general resistance and 
specific resistances in neurons permits a mathematical dem- 
onstration of the ''possibility'^ of the responding motor point 
being definitely changed by reversing the ''temporal order" 
of qualitatively differing stimuli. For example, the Other- 
One responds in one way to hearing "tack" pronounced, in 
another way to hearing "cat.") 

Naming colors red and green is a habit, as is all definite 
speech. Clearly, a neuron may take a specific resistance, 
a specific conductivity, during and in consequence of the 
process of learning, thereby revealing its susceptibility. But 



136 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHEK-OXE 

it is also clear that the specific resistance of many a neuron 
is the result of heredity. We know that in animals the 
reflex response to red, for example, dififers from the reflex 
response to green, under certain (not by any means all) 
experimental conditions. Remember a bull or a turkey gob- 
bler. Remember also the distinctive coloring, the distinctive 
sounds, the distinctive odors of many species, which almost 
unquestionably serve definite reflexes. 

It is worth while to mention in this connection that the 
dififerentiation of neurons into many classes having distinct 
specific conductivities (in addition to general conductivity) 
is a great aid to the architect of the nervous system. This 
differentiation enables the architect to get along with a 
smaller number of building elements, a smaller total number 
of neurons. A common path from the sensory point in ques- 
tion can serve more reflexes than one until a point is 
reached, close enough to the several motor points, where 
division is necessary in order to call forth this or that of 
several reflex actions serving that sensory point. Even 
tho the total number of neurons is great, five thousand 
millions or more, there must be economy in their architec- 
tural employment, considering the actual complexity of the 
Other-One's Hfe. 

Specific conductivities not only help us to understand 
why the Other-One reacts differently to different stimuli 
applied to the same sensory point. Specific conductivities 
also help us to understand why the Other-One calls ''dif- 
ferent'' stimuli sometimes ''similar." For example, the art- 
ists call green and blue similar, give them a common name 
and call them cool colors. A common name, where it does 
not indicate equality, always has the significance of "sim- 
ilarity." But the usage of language, it is well to remember, 
inconsistently does not always provide a common name for 
things which are called similar, — thus causing not infre- 



SIMILAKITY 137 

quent trouble to the psychologist. Tones of piano keys 
which are neighbors, are called similar by the psychologists, 
altho they have no common name. And tones which the 
musicians call Octaves, Fifths, Fourths, and which are 
apart, maybe very far apart, on the key-board, are never- 
theless called similar by the psychologists, — and again the 
usage of language has not provided a common name. 

In some of these cases, obviously, each nervous current 
consists of two (or more) kinds of ions. One kind finds 
its specific (that is, lowest) resistance over the neurons in 
the direction of one motor outlet, another kind in another 
direction. So the flower picked up by the Other-One may 
be called by him blue, or it may be called dark. Whether 
one or the other competing motor outlet *'beats," depends 
on many circumstances in the functioning of the system, 
such as ''preoccupation," or perhaps the existence of an- 
other current going already independently (and therefore 
deflecting) toward that particular motor outlet. The piece of 
coal picked up by the Other-One is never called blue by him 
(tho perhaps ''uncolored") ; but it is often, like the flower, 
called dark. There must be an ion class in both currents 
C'coal" and ''flower") which easily finds its way toward 
the "dark" motor outlet. It must find specific conductivity 
of the proper kind in the neurons there. 

In other cases the nervous currents may differ by the 
frequency with which ions break loose from a larger mole- 
cule. If the frequency differs little, the same neuron in- 
vites, so to speak, both currents by offering them a specific 
conductivity. Thus the tones E and F, or F and F-sharp, 
are similar. 

In still other cases ions may have such geometrical de- 
signs in the grouping of their atoms that they find a par- 
ticular neuron with specific conductivity favoring both. A 
neuron accommodating, so to speak, a group of 30, may also 



138 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

readily accommodate a group of 45 atoms, — perhaps on ac- 
count of the same factor (15) existing in both numbers. 
But the same neuron, favoring 30, may not quite so readily 
favor an ion grouped together out of 31 or 32 atoms. 

The reader familiar with acoustics probably notices al- 
ready that the numbers 30 and 45 refer to a case of the 
tones, say, F and C; and that the other numbers refer to 
a case like F and F-sharp. The most distinguished author 
on the psychology of tone, Stumpf, has used the term 
''specific synergies" with reference to the interrelation of 
neuron functions of this kind, as exemplified by the num- 
bers 30 and 45. 

One neuron, then, may readily accommodate both the 30 
group and the 45 group of atoms, but not readily both the 
30 group and the 32 group. Another neuron, however, may 
accommodate most readily the near frequencies of tone stim- 
ulation, but not readily both the 30 group and the 45 group. 

Thus one can understand why F and C, in a certain sense, 
deserve to be regarded as more similar than F and F-sharp ; 
in another sense F and F-sharp more similar than F and 
C. 

These examples of what ''similarity'^ means in the Other- 
One's life, are given here purely as suggestions indicating 
where the true problem lies. Why are there such identities 
of muscular reaction, — replaced commonly by the brief 
name "similar"? These problems are unquestionably of a 
chemical nature. The chemistry of the neuron, some time 
in the future — not too remote, let us hope — will unquestion- 
ably give a simple solution to problems which long have 
bewildered and still perplex the student of the life of the 
Other-One. 

There is, concerning the fixation of a new path, a very 
important problem still left. We have reason to believe that 
in addition to the fixation by susceptibility, which makes a 



SHOETBNING THE NEEVOUS PATH 139 

long path function as if it were a short one, there is another 
kind of fixation. There seems to be a secondary fixation 
which actually shortens the nervous path, but only in case 
the repetitions making up the learning process are extended 
over weeks and months. We can explain this shortening 
by the aid of a comparatively simple hypothesis. 

All tissue growth is known to be either by cell division 
or by a change in size or shape or other respects of already 
existing individual cells. Different kinds of tissues, how- 
ever, show a remarkable difference with respect to these 
two kinds of growth at the different ages of an animal. 
In certain tissues, cell division can occur all thru life. The 
necessity of this in certain tissues is clear, for example, in 
those tissues of which our skin consists. When we have 
received a considerable wound, involving the loss of some 
skin, the cells at the edges of the wound divide. The re- 
sulting new cells increase in size and divide again ; and so 
on until the opening is completely covered with new skin. 
Without cell division any new skin could hardly be formed, 
since there is a limit to the size which individual cells may 
normally attain. But scarcely any animal goes through life 
without frequently receiving wounds. 

In other tissues cell division becomes impossible after 
the animal has reached a certain age. Since the muscles 
are of special significance for animal behavior, let us take 
the muscles as an example. It seems that in human 
muscles cdl division becomes impossible after the age of 
from twenty to twenty-five years. From this follows the 
important fact that, in order to become an athlete, a person 
must exercise his muscles and thus induce both cell division 
and cell growth before the age of twenty-five years at the 
latest. If he has failed to do this, the number of muscle 
cells which he possesses is so small that exercise, because 
of the limited growth of the individual cells, will now only 



140 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

slightly increase the bulk and therefore the total strength 
of his muscles. This age limit for cell division differs in 
tissues of various kinds. 

The bulk of the nervous system consists of nervous tissue 
proper, that is, the conducting tissue, and of supporting 
tissue. In the latter, cell division may occur at any age. 
In the nervous tissue proper, however, cell division, that 
is the multiplication of neurons, stops before man begins 
his postnatal life. It has been found that about three 
months before birth man has as many neurons as he will 
ever have in his life. 

At this time the vast majority of these neurons are in 
the undeveloped condition which we have already described. 
They are little balls without any branches and therefore of 
no value for the conduction of an excitation. They de- 
velop into complete conductors at various stages of the 
Other-One's life. Some develop early, in order to serve 
those muscular activities which the baby needs immediately 
on entering into Hfe, for example, the activities of sucking 
and swallowing. Others develop during the succeeding 
years of childhood and youth. 

It is a peculiar fact, however, that even in old age there 
are still many undeveloped neurons present in the Other- 
One's brain. The conclusion offers itself that these un- 
developed neurons enable him to acquire, even at an ad- 
vanced age, certain new responses to stimulations. 

The numerical possibility for the architect of leaving, to 
the time of death, a considerable number of neurons un- 
developed and unused, appears from the fact that the total 
number of neurons in the brain is enormous, uncountable. 
A day of twenty-four hours contains 86,400 seconds, a 
hundred years but little more than three thousand million 
seconds. How could we count the neurons in the brain 



u:n'developed isteueons 141 

even if they were only an equal number of millions, — and 
they probably are more ! 

Thus it does not matter much if the Other-One takes a 
few millions of undeveloped neurons with him into the 
grave, provided that thereby he is at any time of his life 
capable of forming new useful habits. Capable also of 
regaining nervous functions which he has lost in con- 
sequence of a lesion within his brain, — say, a bullet having 
passed thru his brain. In such a case, if he is lucky enough 
to remain alive, he is at first — and he may be permanently 
— found incapable of performing certain skilful move- 
ments and of reacting in any way to certain stimulations. 

If a piece of his brain is destroyed, it does not regenerate 
like a piece of his skin. What takes the vacant place is 
not the same kind of thing. The conductive tissue does not 
regenerate. Its room is filled out with supporting tissue. 
The neurons lost, are lost forever. The functions lost, 
however, may be entirely or partly regained, just as if 
thev were new habits. 

ml 

We stated that a new nervous path, after having been 
fixed in its original length thru the susceptibility of the 
neurons of which it consists, may later be shortened. We 
can now explain how this shortening can come about. Sup- 
pose a new path leads now, instead of to the point Mp which 
in our figure may be imagined to correspond to Sp, by 
way of higher centers to a non-corresponding point, say, 
Mq. Sp and Mq are supposed to belong to two reflex arches 
which are very remotely related, so that the first resulting 
path goes over very high centers and is of a very round- 
about and zigzag nature. The figure represents this dia- 
grammatically, without suggesting that the path in the brain 
would actually present itself to the eye as a symmetrical 
figure like this. 



142 



PSYCHOI.OGY OF THE OTHEH-ONE 




SHORT-CIRCUITING IN . THE 
NERVOUS SYSTEM. 



What is important in the diagram is only that in various 
places, for example, at S% two points of the path are by 
chance very near each other. Let us assume that in such a 
case we have between the two points a peculiar, growth 
inducing, biological condition, just as we should have, if 
the path were a metallic conductor carrying a high poten- 
tial current, an electrical tension likely to break thru the 
insulating substance in sparks. This simple hypothesis is 
sufficient to explain the second kind of fixation of the varia- 
tion of a nervous path. The biological tension, so to speak, 
between S% and M% causes one or more of the undevel- 
oped nerve cells to grow and send out branches in either 
direction of the tension. 

The consequence of this development of a new connect- 
ing neuron is a shortening of the path leading from Sp to 
Mq by practically putting out of function the part above 
S% M\, owing to the higher resistance of this upper loop. 
The result of the new growth is that the response at Mq to 
stimulation of Sp occurs with greater quickness and also 
with greater definiteness, exclusiveness, for less of the flux 
from Sp can now reach motor points other than Mq. 

The same kind of shortening of the path may occur later 
between S\ and M\. Here again the biological tension 



AUTOMATIC AOTIOIT 143i 

may cause the development of a new connecting neuron out 
of an undeveloped nerve cell. The length of the total path 
leading from Sp to Mq may thus be reduced to almost that 
of a reflex arch. The response at Mq to a stimulus at Sp 
must then occur with the same quickness and definiteness 
as a reflex. That habits can become very much like re- 
flexes is well known. In the drilling of a soldier good ex- 
amples can be found by any observer. 

Action of this kind is called automatic. It scarcely dif- 
fers from reflex action in any respect, save in its origin, 
which is not hereditary. Its resemblance to reflex action 
is illustrated also by the .slowness with which the destruc- 
tive influences of certain diseases of the brain attack it. 
When a nervous disease has made a man's actions entirely 
illogical, certain automatic actions still occur with the same 
promptness as most reflexes, for example, oaths — in people 
who have acquired the habit of swearing in early life. 
This indicates the probability that our hypothesis agrees 
with what actually occurs in the brain. Since the disease 
attacks the higher centers of the brain before the lower 
centers, the development of the automatic action of swear- 
ing seems to have consisted in the functional cutting out of 
the higher centers from the path, as explained in the dia- 
gram of our figure. 

If the distance between S\ and M^q had been less than 
the distance between S^p and M^q, the shortening of the 
path might immediately have occurred here. The possibility 
agrees with the observation that habitual reactions are 
sometimes made automatic, quick and sure, only in nu- 
merous stages, sometimes become completely automatic 
almost at one time, without any explanation of this dif- 
ference offering itself in the circumstances of the experi- 
ment. 



144 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-OlsrE 



Another interesting fact which may have its explanation 
in this short-circuiting is illustrated by our figure of tests 
during the learning process. Each of the small steps of 
the figure indicates one test. Because of the many factors 
which disturb every test we do not expect that every step 
rises with regularity above the preceding test. But we 
hardly expect to find a tendency for the values to remain 
virtually on a level during several successive tests, only to 
rise again quite rapidly afterwards. Nevertheless this is 
what sometimes has been found. 



SCCONO Levcl 




TESTS DURING THE LEARNING PROCESS. 

It is possible that each of these apparent levels is really, 
not a plateau, but a gradient of a small angle, and indicates 
a period of slow progress of learning, — the ordinary slow 
improvement in skill, speed, or whatever may be tested. 
But while the final adjustments of cutting oflf a loop in the 
nervous system are being made, the tests of the person's 
efficiency must reveal a more precipitous improvement. 
After this the efficiency rises again slowly, imtil another 
neuron, having had time enough to grow, extends its fiber 
in the line of biological tension, cuts oflf another loop and 
thus raises the efficiency again more quickly during the 



ALTERNATE SLOW AKD QUlOK LEAUN^ING 145 

following tests during which the synapse establishes itself 
completely. Instead of speaking of levels, we ought, if the 
explanation by this hypothesis is correct, to speak rather 
of alternating periods of comparatively slow and of quick- 
ened progress. 

We have said much in this chapter about the fact that 
the Other-One learns. We have meant by it that he grad- 
ually varies those responses with which Nature has endowed 
him thru heredity giving him reflexes. We have discussed 
the conditions under which learning takes place. Some 
of these conditions are circumstantial. They refer to the 
nature and manner of stimulation. Other conditions are 
intrinsic. They refer to the biological properties of the 
conductive tissue. 

If the Other-One did not learn, he would not differ much 
from plants. He would still be more mobile than plants 
generally are: His nervous system, built up out of reflex 
arches, would be an essential factor in securing for him 
this mobility. And his nervous system would therefore 
still be a distinguishing mark. Nevertheless his life would 
not be very different from plant life. (Do we not say that 
some of his functions, e. g., digestion, are 'Vegetative''?) 
But he varies his actions during his individual life. He 
varies them enormously. And thus plants become quite 
incomparable to him. He varies : he learns or wills. 

Learning, as thus far considered, is a process which in 
each case goes on rather slowly. — The Other-One varied 
from what we were accustomed to see him do. He varied 
from his reflex actions. We became accustomed to his 
habits, and he varied from his habits again. Still in every 
case the variation of response established itself so slowly 
that we could speak of a more or less conspicuous ''process" 
of learning. 



146 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

However, in many of the higher animals as well as in 
the Other-One of our own species we observe a ynd of 
variation of response which surprises us thru the lack of 
any slow process of formation of w^hat, nevertheless, looks 
like a new habit. We are surprised by the quickness with 
which the change came about. For example, a dog which 
viciously attacks every stranger and accepts no offers of 
friendship from them, is one morning found dead, poisoned. 
At the same time there are signs noticed of unwelcome 
visitors to the house. Obviously these succeeded in ''teach- 
ing'' him in a few seconds to behave quite differently to- 
ward strangers and silently to accept food from them. In 
the Other-One's life w^e call the counterpart of such quick 
teaching, not ''learning" or "habit formation," but "willing". 
And this teaching process we often call temptation, no mat- 
ter whether the teacher is a person or a material situation. 

The word "will" plays in literature two especially im- 
portant roles. First, in the phrase "freedom of the will;" 
second, in the phrase "strength of the will." 

We read in mythology that Heracles once met on a di- 
vision of the road tAvo women who called his attention to 
the advantages of the one and the other continuation of the 
road. They tried to teach him. One did not succeed in 
teaching him. The other did succeed. He learned. 

But where the process of learning is so brief, we don't 
call it learning. We call it willing. And since in a case of 
learning where the time is so short, where repetition is so 
inconspicuous, the outcome is so difficult to foretell by the 
onlooker, we call the outcome an accident. It seems Hke 
the weather, like the wind which blows whence and whither 
it wishes. In this sense we speak of "freedom." Free- 
dom of action in the animal world signifies the same that 
is meant by accidents in the world of physics. 



WILLIISTG 147 

Why do we speak so little of accidents in physics and 
so much of freedom in human life? This is itself an ac- 
cident. Because the accidents happen to be the very facts 
which a professor of physics is least interested in, he men- 
tions them rarely in his books and lectures. But the pro- 
fessors of the various forms of conduct in human society 
and of human history happen to take more interest in the 
cases of quick and unsure learning (in freedom) than in 
the slowly and surely progressing cases of learning (in 
habit). Therefore we hear so much talk of freedom of 
action and read so much about it in literature, — in fiction 
as well as in the literature of law and religion. 

The Other-One's conduct is free, uncaused, only in the 
same sense in which the issue of a disease, the outcome of 
a war, the weather, the crops, are free and uncaused; that 
is, in the sense of general human ignorance of the causes 
of the outcome. 

Paralysis of activity is often said to be the consequence 
of too much talk of universal causation. But surely the 
energetic and ambitious man is not paralyzed thereby. He 
is the tool used by nature to shape the destinies of the world. 
How could the admission by others of his importance in 
the causal connections of events paralyze his activity? The 
idle and indolent person may excuse his lack of activity 
by saying that it is his nature to love inactivity, that he 
cannot help it. But who would have any more respect for 
him on that account? Of course it is not his having heard 
of universal causation that makes him indolent. 

The lesson from history is very significant in this re- 
spect. But it must not be read one-sidedly. It is all right 
to point out that the fatalistic Islam is losing piece after 
piece of its dominion. But the same fatalistic Islam also 
conquered a world and for centuries kept all Europe both 



148 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

in terror and in admiration of its cultural achievements. 
Thus it cannot be its fatalism that determined its rise and 
its downfall. 

Next to ''freedom" of will, ''strength" of will is probably 
the most disputed phrase containing reference to this quick 
and unsure process of learning. We think of Napoleon as 
a man of a strong will. We think of Micawber as having 
a wxak will. Napoleon often "learns quickly/' makes 
quick decisions. Micawber also often finds himself in sit- 
uations w^here a man "learns quickly," makes quick de- 
cisions. 

But in Micawber's life it is impossible to put these de- 
cisions under one of a few chapter headings in his biog- 
raphy, under one of the "aims" of his life. Some of these 
decisions would have to go under eating, others under drink- 
ing, some under sleeping, others under looking out of a 
window, some under promenading, others under gossip- 
ing, — and whatever happens frequently in everybody's 
routine of daily life. It is impossible to write his biog- 
raphy with a table of contents made up of a list of his 
"aims" or "purposes." In Napoleon's biography such a 
table of contents could be made without difficulty. Such is 
the difference to which we refer by weakness or strength 
of the Other-One's "will." 

Freedom of will and strength of will are clearly terms 
which are of far m.ore significance to the sciences of social 
institutions than to the science of the Other-One's individ- 
ual activity. They are sociological rather than psycholog- 
ical terms. 

Of peculiar significance in the variation of the nervous 
path, and thus in the variation of the response to a definite 
stimulation, is the muscular or so-called kinesthetic sense. 
In a previous chapter the fact has already been referred to, 
that the muscles are not only motor organs but also sense 



WILLIl^TG BLOCKED BY ANESTHESIA 



149 



organs. Many kinds of concerted action depend on the in- 
tactness of the sensory nerves serving the muscles concerned. 
A workman received a knife wound in the spinal cord. 
Complete recovery occurred, with the exception that the 




WHALING lb A SENSORY-MOTOR FUNCTION. 

right hand and lower arm remained perfectly anesthetic. 
The muscles of the hand and arm functioned almost nor- 
mally. But movements, even very moderately complicated, 
could no longer be performed unless the man saw his hand 
and its movement. The illustration shows his behavior 
when requested to form a ring with his thumb and index 
finger. He could do this fairly well when permitted to look 
at his hand. Otherwise it was impossible, in spite of the 
muscular capacity to perform this action. 

Of course, that man did not have either a reflex or a 
habit (no one has) of making a ring with his finger and 
thumb. A normal person, however, can be taught to do it, 
either by the slow and sure process of training him or, 
just as well, by the quick and unsure process of persuading 
him. A normal person can ''learn'' or 'VilF' to make such 
a ring. This workman, too, can learn or will to do it, but 
only under condition of using his eyes. In this respect 
he differs from normal persons. The example shows clear- 
ly that 'VilHng" is a sensory-motor function and nothing 
else. Of a mysterious "will power'' in the Other-One the 
psychologist of the Other-One has no knowledge, because 



150 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

the sense organs do not reveal it to him. Any interference 
with the Other-One's nervous currents changes the reaction 
of the motor organs in accordance with the nature of the 
interference. If there is no such interference, there is no 
change in the reaction. 

If the psychologist is asked to tell what the difference 
is in terms of nervous functioning between willed and un- 
willed actions of the Other-One, he can say little more and 
will say no less than that so-called willed actions are those 
of a more complicated, unwilled actions those of a less com- 
plicated nervous functioning. The border line between the 
two classes is then fluctuating, is a matter of expediency, 
of taste. And with this statement is in perfect agreement 
the lack of a uniform usage of the terms ''willing" and ''un- 
willing" among lawyers, theologians, students of the social 
sciences, writers of fiction, and so forth. 



CHAPTER VII 

How THE Other-Oni:'s Deve:lope:d Nervous Functions 
Show Up Anatomically. 

Interest in the behavior of the Other-One is, after all, 
not of so recent origin as some may think. The Greek 
classics and Greek archeology show us that the ancients 
were — and in what manner they were — interested in his be- 
havior. They thought that he had within him a ruler under 
whose command were constantly the parts of his body. 
This ruler was a gas-like, shadowy, substance which they 
called his soul, — psyche. It entered his body at birth, at 
the first cry, and left his body at death. Death they pic- 
tured as a shadowy being, sometimes in the shape of a 
person, sometimes in the shape of a butterfly or bird, leaving 
his mouth. 

While this shadow, his soul, was within the body, it was 
supposed to take a special part of the Other-One's body 
for its residence. What part this was, there was much spec- 
ulation about. Naturally they concluded that an anatomical 
region which appeared to be very active in emotions, was 
most probably the seat of the soul. Since we often breathe 
heavily in a state of emotion, the chief breathing muscle, 
the diaphragm, was thought to be the seat of the soul. 

The Greeks called the diaphragm ''phren.^' It is not 
very strange that in the usage of language the seat of the 
soul became confused with the soul itself. In the language 
of the Greeks phren therefore came to mean soul. This 
is the reason why in the eighteenth century the phren- 
ologists, who were trying to put — and with some success did 
put — "psychology" on a higher scientific level, gave it a 

(151) 



152 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

new name and called it ''phrenology." Phrenology like 
psychology literally means science of the soul. 

It goes without saying that those eighteenth century 
phrenologists (especially their master, Gall, a physician) 
had nothing in common in ideals or purposes with the char- 
latans who have been going under the same name during the 
nineteenth century, — and even to the present day. 

Our ancestors from the northern parts of Europe thou- 
sands of years ago located the soul, not like the Greeks in 
the diaphragm, but in another muscle which is quite active 
during many emotions. So they developed the habit of 
speaking of different people as having a big, soft, hard, 
broken, warm, cold, etc. heart. And Hke the Greeks they 
did not mean thereby a muscle, but referred to the Other- 
One's soul. 

During the last centuries, with the rise of the science of 
anatomy, even popular language has come to recognize that 
the Other-One's behavior depends on his nervous system 
more than on any other part of his body. Popular language, 
however, does not speak of the ''nervous system,'' mentions 
but rarely the Other-One's nerves, and speaks usually of 
his "brain." Why is that so? 

The brain is so much more conspicuous than any other 
part or parts of the nervous system that it is the only part 
for which there exists a truly popular name, the very name 
"brain." One can buy brains in the butcher shop. Other 
parts of the nervous system are not offered .for sale there 
as such, because they cannot easily be removed from the 
carcass and handled separately. 

The question which readily suggests itself and which this 
chapter will attempt to answer, is : Why have the highly 
developed nervous functions, with which we have become 
acquainted in the previous chapters, led to making a part 
of the nervous system so conspicuous over all others? The 



BEAIN 153 

functions with which we have become acquainted are re- 
flexes, instinctive actions, and habits. 

The fewer instinctive actions and habits a species of ani- 
mals can show, the lower it is placed in the stage of evolu- 
tion. The more instinctive actions an animal has, and es- 
pecially the more habits instead of mere reflexes, the 
higher we call it. In general higher animals — everybody 
knows — also have a larger, lower animals a smaller brain. 

Reflexes, instinctive actions, and habits depend — we have 
learned — on definite structural, architectural, peculiarities 
of the nervous system. It seems interesting and promising, 
therefore, to raise the question why these structural peculi- 
arities should result in the remarkable anatomical con- 
spicuousness of one bulky mass of nervous tissue, that is, 
in a ''brain" making its appearance, — and a brain ever in- 
creasing in size. Why does not, in the process of evolu- 
tion from lower to higher animals, merely the total quan- 
tity of scattered conductive tissue increase, but remain 
scattered thruout the body? 

Local responses, we have seen, require nothing further 
than reflex paths, which, being entirely independent of each 
other, may be located anywhere in the body provided the 
ends of each path are in the proper sensory and motor points. 
Paths serving simple reflexes may be scattered and need 
not become conspicuous save to the investigator armed 
with a microscope. 

But the necessity of a number of muscular actions oc- 
curring in concert introduces at once a new element into 
the anatomical aspect of the case. An animal as low as a 
worm already shows this new feature clearly. In our figure 
of the bulk of the nervous system of an earthworm, showing 
its anatomical form in the head, the middle segments, and 
the tail, we see lengthwise a series of black nodes. Each 
of these nodes serves one of the segments of which the 



154 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

worm consists. We know these segments well from mere 
observation of this familiar animal with the naked eye. 
For the locomotion of the worm it is essential that each 
of the segments be capable of contracting separately from 
all the others. 

Since the worm's body is long and narrow, we expect 
that successive pieces,, from the front to the rear, should 
function in relative independence. To make this still 
clearer, let us remember how the worm moves forward. 
The abdominal side of the body possesses tiny bristles point- 
ing backwards, so that no part of the body easily slides 
backwards on the ground. If, then, a fraction of the body, 
at the front end, lengthens in the manner which everybody 
knows from observation, the front end must be pushed for- 
ward. 

Suppose now the first half of this front end, the head, 
so to speak, remains inactive on the ground, but the second 
half actively shortens, and during the same time an equally 



THE NEin OUS SYSTEM IX' THE HEAD, 
MIDDLE SEGMENTS' AND TAIL OF A WORM. 

long third piece directly behind actively lengthens. The 
effect must be that the elements of the second piece are, 
more or less, pushed forward. 



ganglions; of a wokm 



155 



If now the third piece, which has just extended itself 
lengthwise, contracts lengthwise, and the directly following 
fourth piece lengthens at the same time, while all the rest 
of the body remains inactive on the ground, the elements 
of the third piece are pushed forward, more or less. When 
in the same way the fourth and every succeeding piece has 
been moved forward, we can say that the worm as a whole 
has made a step forward. It is immediately clear that 
the nervous system of this animal must be so constructed 
that the successive pieces can function in relative inde- 
pendence. They must be nervously furnished in such a 
manner that they can function like so many separate organs, 
that each as a whole possesses what we have called local 
responsiveness. 

Each segment must have, in a sense, its own nervous 
system. Therefore there are visible to the eye as many 
''nervous systems'' or ''ganglions'' as there are segments. 
The "swelling" (this is what "ganglion" literally means), 
the conspicuous node, results from the fact that the re- 
flex arches of the segments (in each of which there are 




GROUP FORMATION IN THE NERVOUS SYSTEM. 

naturally many m.uscle fibers) must be anatomically pulled 
together in order to be given a common superposed arch 
or "center." And thus they form a relatively bulky and 



156 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-Oi^E 

conspicuous mass, the node, the ganglion. In our figure 
''group formation, '^ which is of course a mere sketch il- 
lustrating principles, such a node may be thought to be the 
mass of nervous tissue included in the dotted ellipse within 
which the point S^ab is located. 

Observation w4th the microscope reveals that each of 
these ganglions, even at ''a'' in the figure of the worm, con- 
sists of two relatively separate parts, we may say of a right 
ganglion and a left ganglion. Toward the head this double- 
ness becomes very conspicuous, and the nervous cord in 
the region marked ''b'' in the figure assumes a ladder-like 
appearance. In the head region, marked ''c'\ the two halves 
of the cord separate so widely because they have to pass 
around the mouth opening, for the cord in the invertebrate 
animals is located on the ventral side of the animal; and 
the mouth opening is located on the same side since animals 
naturally feed from the ground. In front of the mouth 
the two halves of the cord join again and carry the two 
head ganglions (or the one double ganglion of the head, 
if we prefer to say so) of which we shall have to speak a 
little farther on under the name of the brain. 

The fact that each segment of the worm has a right and 
a left ganglion, is easily understood. The right half and 
the left half of each segment sometimes function in relative 
independence. This is the case whenever in the region of 
this segment the worm is not straight, but curved, — when 
the path of the worm on or in the ground is curved in 
this place. In each half of the segment the muscle fibers 
have then their concertedness of action. Each half may 
contract without the other contracting too. But usually 
both halves act in concert, and for this purpose the ''rung 
of the ladder" unites the two ganglions. 

There is not an equally pronounced separation between 
the upper and the lower half of each segmental ganglion. 



HEAD GAI^GLIONS 157 

Why not? — Animals, generally speaking, live on the sur- 
face of the earth (only exceptionally above or below its 
surface) and move forward or to the right or the left on 
the surface. They do not, in general, move up into the 
air and down into the ground, notwithstanding exceptions, 
of which the very earthworm may be said to be one. Even 
the earthworm, in its wanderings, obviously turns much 
more frequently to the right and to the left than down- 
wards or upwards. So the ''local response" of the upper, 
or lower, half of the segment without the other half is 
not an action for which special provision is as important 
as for the local response of each of the lateral halves. 

The front ganglion and the next, directly behind the 
mouth opening, are larger than any others. Using the 
customary designation ''brain'' for the most conspicuous 
mass of nervous tissue in the animal body, one could call 
these two ganglions together, at "c", or the frontal gan- 
glion alone the worm's brain. But the very fact that one 
hesitates before deciding to call either both together or the 
frontal one alone the brain, demonstrates how misleading 
this very appellation .really is. Apart from the greater size 
there is nothing distinguishing found in the worm's brain. 
The function is of the same kind as that of any other gan- 
glion. 

The muscle fibers are especially numerous in an animal's 
head. They act there in especially numerous combinations, 
in many varied forms of concert. Not only are movements 
of the head of great importance for locomotion — the rest 
of the body follows where the head goes — , but there are 
in the head also the mouth organs which move while taking 
in the food. And because of the importance of the muscle 
actions occurring in the head, it is only natural that there 
are placed there also very numerous sensory points, whose 
stimulation calls forth those varied muscular reactions. 



158 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-OXE 

The large size of the head ganghons is simply the result of 
the multiplicity of forms of concertedness among a multi- 
plicity of reflex functions of the head segment, — with one 
exception. 

This exception consists in the need of having a certain 
concertedness of all the segments of the body established 
in such a manner that this total concertedness — or integra- 
tion — depends on stimuli received by the head rather than 
on stimuli received by any other part of the body. The 
head — that is, the part that moves in front of all the other 
parts — is more likely than any other part to receive any 
kind of stimuli for the reason that it moves toward these 
stimuli. And the head will also receive, in general, the most 
significant stimuli. To give a simple illustration, having 
gone into a cul-de-sac, it is the head, obviously, which will 
receive whatever stimuli may be characteristic of this pe- 
culiar situation, which demands that for the time being 
the tail assume the role of the head and take the lead in 
the locomotion. 

Since the sense organs of the head are, then, the most 
important sense organs for this total concertedness of ac- 
tion, it is quite natural that by the superposed arches serv- 
ing this total concertedness all the lower centers should be 
drawn together within the region of the head rather than 
in any other locality of the body. In our figure ''group 
formation" these superposed arches, the highest centers, 
are represented in the dotted ellipse within which the points 
S^, S"* and M^ are found. The addition of the nervous 
tissue of these highest centers of course helps to make the 
head ganglions relatively still more big and conspicuous. 
Nevertheless, there is no particular kind of functioning 
found in this "brain" which cannot be found in the other 
ganglions too. 



GAIs^GLIONS OF A STARFISH 159 

A starfish presents to us some very interesting features. 
It may be compared with a collection of worms having 
one common mouth. As our figure shows, each arm of 
the starfish has a series of ganghons, strung on a cord, so 
to speak, comparable in virtually all respects with the series 
of ganglions of the worm. But when at the ganglion be- 
hind the mouth opening the cord splits, it can not as in 
the w^orm simply unite again in a ganglion before the 
mouth, but on the right it becomes identical with the cor- 
responding left branch of its neighbor cord, and on the 
left it becomes identical with the corresponding right branch 
of its neighbor cord. 



NERVOUS SYSTEM OF A 
STARFISH. 



So the starfish is like five worms having a common mouth 
and of course no head, and — what interests us most — ^having 
a common ''brain" consisting of five ganglions. This case 
shows perhaps even more strikingly that ''brain" does not 
signify anything but the most bulky part of the nervous 
system. Instead of saying that the starfish has one brain 
consisting of five ganglions, we can just as well say that 
it has five brains whose co-operation is brought about by 
a cord running around from point to point of the pentagon 
at whose corners these brains are situated. 



160 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-Ol^E 

So much, however, has already become clear to us that 
the most bulky part of any animal's nervous system — call 
it brain or no — is very likely to be the location of the high- 
est of all the nerve centers which an animal possesses. And 
inversely, the higher the nerve centers possessed by an 
animal, the greater seems to be then the probability that 
somewhere, and most likely in the head, a particularly 
bulky mass of nervous tissue will make itself conspicuous. 

We need not prove that the so-called higher animals 
possess higher nerve centers than the lower animals, for the 
greater complication of their nervous system and the re- 
sulting greater complexity of their life activities is the very 
reason why certain animals are called higher in comparison 
with others, w^hich then, of course, are called lower animals. 
Thus we can rewrite the last sentence of the preceding 
paragraph as follows : The higher animals are more likely 
than the lower animals to possess one bulk of nervous tis- 
sue which makes itself particularly conspicuous. Or, the 
higher an animal, the more conspicuous in the body is its 
brain likely to be. The following figures will illustrate this 
statement further. 

The crayfish is an animal considerably higher than the 
earthworm. Yet there is no essential difference in the 
conspicuous anatomical features of the two animals. We 
notice, however, that the ganglions before and directly be- 
hind the mouth opening are relatively bigger. This is to 
be expected, because the crayfish has numerous appendages. 
Each of these appendages consist of parts. Each of these 
parts may at times have to react in relative independence 
of the other parts, that is, in a local reaction. But all the 
parts often have to act concertedly, while yet the whole ap- 
pendage, of which they are a part, acts locally, that is, 
independently of the other appendages. Very often two 
appendages, especially those located symmetrically at the 



CTA:N'GLIOISrS OF A CEAYFISiH 



161 



two sides of the body, act in concertedness. Very often 
a still greater number of appendages act in concert, es- 
pecially when responding to stimulation occurring at the 
sense organs of the head, which are here much more elab- 
orate than they are in the worm. So the large size of the 
head ganglion results directly from the need of system- 
atized multiple conduction paths which place the muscles 
in varied ways at the disposal of the sense organs. 




NERVOUS SYSTEM OF A CRAYFISH. 

The vertebrates have, in their head, sensory and motor 
organs of still greater significance than those found in the 
head of the articulate and lower animals. The reflex arches 
of all of these, and also of the sensory and motor points of 
the remainder of the body, must be united into groups, 
and these groups, again, must enter into manifold com- 
binations in order to serve the more varied needs of a 
more richly furnished organism. Accordingly we find in 
the head of a fish a particularly large accumulation of nerve 
centers. The fact that this ''brain" results from the forma- 




BRAIN OF A FISH. 



tion of groups of reflexes, and groups of these groups, and 
higher groups again, is very apparent to the eye. The 
brain appears clearly as an agglomeration of nvuiierous gan- 



162 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

glions. In some of them the division into a right and a 
left ganglion is very striking. We have seen that this di- 
vision is very natural because of the frequent necessity of 
local responsiveness on either side alone. 

The reader has undoubtedly noticed that A in the figure 
shows a side view of the same ganglions which in B are seen 
from above. 

We have mentioned that the reflexes of the parts of the 
body other than the head must be well co-ordinated with 
those serving the head itself, so that the forward part of 
the body may be in more than a mere geometrical sense 
the leader of the body. However, there are certain reflexes 
which do not require a particularly close connection with 
those of the head. They are the reflexes which serve the 
so-called vegetative or visceral functions of the body. Let 
us make this clear by examples. 

The approach to an article of food lying in the neigh- 
borhood is controlled mainly by the reflexes within the 
head; it is a response to sights, sounds, odors, tastes re- 
ceived by the sense organs of the head. But the approach 
could not take place without the co-operation of the re- 
flexes on which the locomotor organs depend for their func- 
tion ; and these organs are to be found in the remainder 
of the body rather than in the head. So there must be here 
a close connection between reflexes within and reflexes with- 
out the head. On the other hand, there is scarcely any 
reason, why, for example, the intestinal activity of digest- 
ing food should be influenced, enhanced, or impaired during 
the time of this or any other specially directed locomotion 
of the body, or why this special locomotion should be in- 
fluenced by the intestinal activity, save the extreme cases 
of an empty or an already overloaded stomach, to use 
familiar language. We are not surprised, then, to find in 
any animal the visceral nervous system (often called ''auto- 



GA]SrGLIO:^S OF LOWER VERTEBEATES 163 

nomic/' that is, ''self-governing") rather separated from the 
remainder, and to find in the nervous accumulation of the 
head which we call the brain "the center'' not so much of 
the whole nervous system, but only of a part, altho by far 
the largest part, of the nervous system of an animal. 

In comparing further vertebrates, higher than the fishes, 
our interest is confined to this part of the nervous system 
which is accumulated in the head. We notice that the dif- 
ferent ganglions of the ''brain," passing from lower to 
higher animals, do not grow in equal proportions. We must 
give these ganglions names in order to be able to refer to 
them severally. Our figures, each of which gives a side 
view. A, and a view from above, B, contain their ordinary 
anatomical names. There are five subdivisions from front 
to back, of which three, the frontal ones, are more obviously 
divided into a right and a left half than the other two. The 
ganglions of the brain are frequently also called lobes. 
Thus "ol" in the figure means "optical lobe," "of" stands 
for" olfactorv lobe." Of the other abbreviations "m" 
means the "medulla," joining the cord, also called bulb 
because of its shape. The "cerebellum' or small brain 
is marked "cb, the "cerebrum" or large brain "CER.'' 

Compare with these ganglions of the fish those of the 
frog. Their relative size has changed in favor of one, the 
cerebrum. This is still more obvious in a still higher an- 




A B 

BRAIN OF A FROG. 



imal, a bird. The two halves of the cerebrum, the so-called 
hemispheres, are now, especially in the view B, from above, 
the most conspicuous part of the whole. The same de- 



164 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHEE-ONE 



velopment continues when we pass to the brain of a mam- 
mal. The hemispheres of the cerebrum begin to look as 
if they were the whole brain. The optical lobes have in- 
deed been so completely overlapped by the ever growing 
hemispheres that they have disappeared from sight. 




BRAIN OF A BIRD. 



This continued growth of the same single ganglion — 
quite aside from a continuous, but less marked growth of 
all others — thru the various stages of evolution of the 
vertebrates illustrates a principle different, as we have said, 




A B 

BRAIN OF A LOWER MAMMAL. 

from that which requires a bulkier nervous system for an 
animal possessing a greater number of sensory and motor 
points. This continued growth of a single ganglion can 
have a meaning only if the ganglion thus growing does 
not serve any peripheral points directly, but exclusively, .or 
almost exclusively, indirectly. This growth can have a 
meaning only if the ganglion serves by interconnecting 
neuron groups already severally unified, — if it serves by 
unifying them into further derived groups, as illustrated by 
the scheme of our figure ''group formation.'' The growth 



CEREBKAL HEMISPHEEES 



165 



of this ganglion, then, enables the animal more and more 
to react at any motor point to an excitation occurring at any 
sensory point whatsoever, without losing its indispensable 
local responsiveness. 

A B 




THE NEiRVOUS SYSTEM OF MAX, 



If w^e compare in our next figure the bulky part of the 
nervous system of man (that is, the part which can be cut 
out of the body with comparative ease) and the bulky part 
of the nervous system of a worm in a previous figure, we 
see that they are not unlike in appearance. However, to 
a nervous system like that of the worm man has appended 
the enormous mass of nervous tissue of the cerebral hem- 
ispheres (and, we might add, the considerable, tho lesser, 



166 PSYCHOLOGY OF TPIE OTHER-ONE 

mass of the cerebellum) serving no other purpose than that 
explained in the last paragraphs. 

Along the two sides of the spinal cord there are two rows 
of ganglions somewhat separated from the cord. They re- 
call to our mind the longitudinal series of ganglions serving 
the segments of the worm. Man, like all vertebrates, no 
longer is an animal consisting of so many segments, but his 
nervous system still preserves the reminiscences, so to 
speak, of an earlier stage of evolution. And the doubleness 
of the row reminds us that even in man, or especially in 
man, either side of the body often functions independently 
of the other. Many of man's activities, it is true, are of 
the symmetrical kind, requiring co-operation of the motor 
organs symmetrically situated. But not a few of his ac- 
tivities are one-sided. The reflex paths of a certain region 
of either side are therefore united in a ganglion before 
coming into connection with the nervous conductors of the 
spinal cord. 

The body of man as we know it in life's activities con- 
sists essentially of only three longitudinal segments, the 
head, the upper part of the trunk with the arms, and the 
lower part of the trunk with the legs. One could deduce 
this, without knowing man's body, from merely observing 
the crowding of nervous tissue in the brain, the cervical 
region of the spinal cord, and the lumbar region. 

In the next figure, showing the human brain without the 
cord, we see still more strikingly the enormous development 
of the cerebral hemispheres as compared with the cerebrum 
of the lower vertebrates shown in the previous figures. This 
ganglion, the cerebrum, has grown to such an extent that 
it hides practically all the other parts of the brain, — the 
other head ganglions which are relatively so conspicuous in 
the fish, the frog, and the bird. The cerebral hemispheres 
have in the mammals already fallen sideways over the other 



BEAIX OF MAK 



167' 



original ganglions of the brain. In man they have further 
grown in the forward direction. They have done this, how- 
ever, by first growing upwards and then falling in the man- 
ner of a stocking cap forward over themselves. This ap- 
pears clearly in the view A of the brain of man. Thus on 
both sides the large Sylvian (named after a seventeenth 
century anatomist, Sylvius) fissure has been formed, at S 
in the figure. Only toward the back a piece of the cere- 
bellum and, below, a part of the bulb or medulla are still 
left uncovered and observable as separate ganglions. 

The cerebrum has become, as it were, the whole brain. 
Its growth, taking place in the brain exactly there where 
the most pronounced growth took place during the im- 
mediately preceding period of evolution, has every time 
served to make possible additional interconnections of the 
highest centers by still higher centers. Thus the growth 
has served to bring about an ever increasing possibihty of 
the seemingly most unrelated sensory and motor points 
becoming functionally related. Thus almost any imaginable 
habit can become estabhshed during life, since its indis- 
perfsable prerequisite is in existence, a nervous path — tho 




A B 

BRAIN OF MAN. 

long and roundabout and therefore of weak conductivity 
— from this or these sensory points to this or these motor 
points. 



168 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

We need not suppose, however, that in this process of 
complication identical with unification, evolution has reach- 
ed its highest possible mark. We should overestimate our 
race if we thought so. There are many indications that 
the functions of innumerable reflexes are still practically 
independent of the function of those which are already ef- 
fectively unified by their connections with the brain and 
especially with the cerebral hemispheres. For example, it 
seems a hopeless task to try to train the Other-One so 
that, on telling him that his heart should beat a little more 
slowly, one can observe a decrease of the pulse rate. Fore- 
telling in what direction evolution will proceed, is of course 
vain speculation. 

Speaking of the evolution of the human race, one must 
not forget, however, that not all human individuals are 
alike. Great variations undoubtedly occur in the amount 
of the various functional properties, of which, as we have 
explained in the previous chapters, neurons are capable. 
Great variations are also possible anatomically. And these 
latter variations concern us particularly at this moment. 

Not all individuals have the various higher and the very 
highest centers equally furnished with neurons. If there 
is a deficiency in the number of neurons here or there, many 
kinds of habits will establish themselves only in a very in- 
direct and roundabout way, that is, very slowly, or even 
not at all. We speak of people w^hose capacities for es- 
tablishing habits are limited, in general as being less in- 
telHgent. More about the meaning of the ''intellect'' or 
''intelligence'' will be said in a later chapter. At this mo- 
ment it suffices to hint at the fact that intelligence and lack 
of intelligence have their anatomical foundations. 

That there should exist a rather definite relation between 
the amount of conductive tissue present in the brain and 
the "amount of intelligence" or the quality of intelligent 



beai:n^ and intelligence 169 

behavior of which a person was capable, occurred to those 
famiHar with the anatomy of the brain long ago. The 
phrenologists worked on the problem unsuccessfully. Dur- 
ing the nineteenth century the problem assumed the sim- 
pler form of an estimation of an animal's or person's general 
intelligence on the basis of his brain weight. 

Of course, after an animaFs brain has been removed 
from the skull and weighed, that individual animal is dead. 
Knowledge of its former intelligence is then of little prac- 
tical value. But if by weighing many brains of a species 
and determining the average brain weight of the species 
one could discover the average intelligence of that species, 
this would still be of considerable practical value. For 
example, in choosing a watch dog for our house or herd, 
we should not hesitate, other things being equal, to take 
our choice between two species if the average intelligence of 
one of these groups could be proved to be greater than that 
of the other. 

With respect to human beings there are many similar 
questions concerning group problems, that is, social prob- 
lems, on which such a measurement, if it existed, of the 
average intelligence of a group could shed light. There 
are traditions, customs, and even laws, which are based 
on the belief of an innate difference of intelligence between 
the various human races. And there are traditions and 
laws relating to the two sexes whi-ch are wholly or partly 
based upon the belief of an innate inferiority of one of 
the sexes. Since the beginning and still more since the 
middle of the nineteenth century these problems have at- 
tracted the attention of not a few careful investigators. 

A large number of brains of men and women have been 
weighed. It has been found that the average male brain 
is somewhat heavier than the average female brain. In 
making the comparison, the investigator chooses, of course, 



170 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

the brains of as homogeneous a class of people as possible. 
The following values are taken from such an investigation 
made years ago in an English workhouse. The average 
weight of adult females was found to be 1212 grams, and 
the average of males 1335 grams. If absolute brain weight 
is an indicator of intelligence, the advantage is here de- 
cidedly on the side of the males. 

The conclusion just mentioned has several times during 
the nineteenth century been drawn by investigators. How- 
ever, toward the end of the century the relativity of such 
measurements became sufficiently recognized, so that in- 
vestigators measured, not only the brain weight, but also 
the body weight of the same individuals. We ought to 
be aware of the fact that large animals, like cattle, have 
and must have a more voluminous nervous system than 
small animals, like rats, without being on that account more 
intelligent. 

Another investigator therefore measured also the body 
volume in the simplest and most natural way, by weighing 
it, as he determined the brain volume simply by weighing it. 
He found as average brain volumes for females 1224 grams 
and for males 1431 grams. xA.s average body volumes he 
found from the same individuals for females 54.8 kilograms 
and for males 66.2 kilograms. These data will form the 
basis of all our following considerations. Having the 
average weight of the brain and of the whole body, one 
easily computes the percentage of the brain volume within 
the whole body volume. This is found to be 2.23 in fe- 
males and 2.16 in males. 

It is interesting to note that those who were particularly 
interested in drawing practical conclusions from determina- 
tions of male and female brain weight, never drew any 
conclusions from the values last mentioned.- If formerly 
the absolutely larger brain of males was a "scientific proof' 



MALE AISTD FEMALE BRAINS 171 

of the superiority of male intelligence, why were these 
values no ''scientific proof of the inferiority of male in- 
telligence? One wonders if the fact that those drawing 
or not drawing these conclusions were men, has any sig- 
nificance in this connection. 

A convenient w^ay of making the comparison is to divide 
the value found for females by the value found for males. 
In order to avoid decimals, let us choose as denominator 
a thousand rather than one. Then, if the numerator is 
larger than 1000, it speaks in favor of the female sex. 
If it is smaller than 1000, it favors the male sex. A com- 
parison of the absolute brain volumes thus gives us the fol- 
lowing quotient: 

Female Brain 855 



Male Brain 1000 

A comparison of the brain volumes relative to the body 
volumes gives us the following quotient: 

Female Brain Volume 



Female Body Volume 1033 



Male Brain Volume 1000 



Male Bodv Volume 



We see here that the pendulum, so to speak, has swung 
to the other side. 

Toward the last few years of the nineteenth century the 
doctrine that the nervous system was a conductive connec- 
tion between the sense organs and the muscles and not the 
mysterious seat of any autocratic governing power, began 
to be fully and generally accepted even by those who were 
specially interested in the problem of the comparison of 
brain measurement and intelligence measurement. They 
began to recognize the importance of the fact that for 
''intelligence" certain sense organs are of less, other sense 



172 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

organs of the greatest importance, and that the latter are 
not distributed all thru the body, but lie mainly on or near 
the surface of the body. Roughly speaking, one may say 
that the number of these here significant sensory points 
increases proportionately with the increase of an animal's 
surface. 

Of the skeletal muscles it may be said that they form the 
bulk of the whole body. The nervous system, in so far 
as it serves these muscles, may be regarded as serving the 
body well enough if its increase keeps step with the in- 
crease of the body volume. If the body volume increases 
out of proportion to the brain, — too bad for the animal's 
intelligence, as in the case of the human males in the last 
quotient. 

But in so far as the conductive tissue serves the surface 
sense organs, one must say that it serves them wxU enough 
only if its volume keeps step with the increase of the size 
of the animal's surface. Xow if we are not interested at 
all in the absolute size of the body surface, but only in 
the question how a small and for all its parts proportional 
increase in an animal's size would increase its surface, we 
do not have to take any new measurement, but have merely 
to make a computation. As a matter of fact, the ratio of 
surface to surface is all we are interested in. The surfaces 
separately do not concern us. And the ratio of the surfaces 
can easily be computed, when we know the ratio of the 
volumes. It is the square of the cube root of the latter. 

The above stated quotient, which yielded the ratio 1033 
to 1000, can also be written thus: 

Male Body \'olume Female Brain \^olume 

Female Body \'olume ^ Male Brain Volume 

Now we know that the ratio of these body volumes is 
1208 to 1000, the same as 66.2 kilograms to 54.8 kilograms. 



BRAIN WEIGHT AN^D BODY SURFACE 173 

The square of the cube root of 1.208 is 1.134. Then we 
get the following comparison of the brain volumes relative 
to the body surfaces : 

Male Body Surface k/ Female Brain Volume \/ 855 970 

Female Body Surface^ Male Brain Volume * ^1000 1000 

We see here that the pendulum has again swung back, 
in favor of the male. But at the same time we notice that 
each time the numerator differs less from a thousand than 
the last time, speaking more in favor of an equality of the 
sexes in intelligence. It has changed from 855 to 1033 and 
back again as far as 970. 

Now, really, the surface alone does not any more than 
an animal's volume alone determine how much nervous 
tissue is needed to serve the whole animal well. Considering 
the volume alone, the value of the quotient was in favor 
of the female. Considering the surface alone, the value 
of the quotient was in favor of the male. Considering 
both, the value must lie close to 1. That is, neither sex 
has any advantage over the other. About the same con- 
clusion follows from considering all three quotients. 

It seems strange that attempts should ever have been 
made to deduce an intellectual inferiority of either sex from 
anatomical features. Our understanding of the functioning 
of the nervous system, notwithstanding the progress which 
has been made during the last hundred and fifty years, is 
still extremely imperfect. We are, and ought to be, very 
elated whenever we discover that our theories of nervous 
functioning find an additional support in those facts of the 
Other-One's behavior which we have newly discovered or 
to which we have only recently learned to pay proper atten- 
tion. It is sheer folly to proceed the other way and to ap- 
ply to real life conclusions from our theories of nervous 
functioning combined with our meager anatomical knowl- 
edge. If we draw conclusions for our own instruction mere- 



174 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

ly, in order to test our theories, this is all right. But to pub- 
lish such deductions and to invite, or thru the lack of proper 
warning even only to permit, the public to regard them as 
facts in which we men of science believe, is not very far 
from criminal negligence. 

The public, which unavoidably consists of groups, of 
which the two sexes, the various races, and the different 
nationalities are the most ponderous examples, is always 
ready to nourish its prejudices by so-called ''scientific proof." 
But forms of behavior— and ''intellect" or "intelligence" 
are nothing but forms of behavior — can not yet be deduced 
from a study of the nervous system more perfectly than 
they can be discovered by a direct study of the Other- 
One's behavior, by simply watching with due care his con- 
duct. 

That men and w^omen are different, is well enough known. 
In so far as their organisms function differently, their in- 
herited forms of behavior must be different. In so far 
their nervous systems, too, must be different. But in so 
far as their organisms do not function differently except 
by accidents of habits acquired — and this applies to every 
case where we have the right to speak of intelligence — it 
would be nothing short of a miracle if nature had 
equipped them thru heredity merely because of their sex 
difference with an important inequality for the perform- 
ance of the same w^ork. 

Even if it should be true — it would be hard to prove and 
thus far has not been proved — that, no matter what the 
environment, the greatest geniuses of mankind could not 
be matched by any which might arise within the female 
sex, that argument would support no discrimination be- 
tween the sexes by law and custom. Of course, no one 
can argue for an equality of things which are different, and 
this is no argument asserting that the two sexes are not 



BEAIN^ WEIGHT 11^ ANIMALS 175 

different. The argument is merely that brain measurements 
do not prove any intellectual difference between the sexes. 
And otherwise, by direct observation of their behavior under 
equal and varying conditions, it has not been proved either. 

The comparison between brain weight relative to body 
volume and body surface on the one hand and observable 
intelligence on the other can be attempted with animals in 
the same manner of computing the quotients as we have 
computed them for the two human sexes. As men and 
women do not have bodies of essentially different propor- 
tions, so animals in general do not essentially lose their 
proportions when changing in the course of evolution to 
smaller or larger sizes. Think of different dogs, for ex- 
ample. Or think of the deer and the roe. Or think even 
of a mouse and a kangaroo. The proportions are nearly 
enough the same to compute the ratio of the surfaces di- 
rectly from the ratio of the volumes, that is, of the weights. 

Let us give the three quotients in the case of an English 
terrier and a Newfoundland dog. Their body weights are 
5300 grams and 38345 grams. Their brain weights are 
69 grams and 120 grams. The three quotients are: 

575 4160 2151 



1000 1000 1000 

The first one favors greatly the Newfoundland, the second 
one favors enormously the terrier, the third one favors 
again the terrier, but much less than the second. We can 
leave it to the reader to decide which of these two breeds 
is the more intelligent, and how this follows from the 
quotients based on comparison absolute, relative to body 
volume, and relative to body surface. 



CHAPTER VIII 

The: Othkr-One:'s Most IntkrKsting Rk^IvI^xks and 
Instinctive Actions. 

Any particular reflex is defined by stating where its sen- 
sory point and its motor point are located in the Other- 
One's body, for example, in the palm of the hand and in 
the muscles bending the fingers of the same hand. In cer- 
tain cases it is of course necessary to state, either instead 
of or in addition to the sensory point, the quality of the 
stimulation, for example, a shrill tone. And it is also neces- 
sary in certain cases to state the qualitative nature of the 
muscular response, for example, scratching, or in another 
case pressing something down. But generally speaking a 
sensory point and a motor point determine a definite reflex. 

Since the reflexes are very numerous, any science con- 
cerned with them very naturally desires to classify them. 
One could classify them with reference to the different 
sensory points. But this classification would be of ana- 
tomical rather than of psychological interest. One could 
classify the reflexes with reference to the muscles acting. 
But this classification would be anatomical and physiological 
rather than psychological. A psychological classification 
will have to be based chiefly on the service rendered by the 
reflexes in the Other-Qne's life. 

It is well, in this classification of the fundamental and 
therefore inherited forms of behavior, to make no distinc- 
tion between reflexes and instinctive activities. A classifica- 
tion based on services rendered need not take into account 
the relative complexity of the inherited nervous functions. 

In the very first chapter we had to point out that all 
animals need locomotion in a straight line in response to 

(176) 



LOCALIZING EEFLEX 177 

the stimulus of lack of food. We added later to this form 
of behavior as a second one of equally fundamental im- 
portance that of changing the direction of the body axis in 
response to stimulation coming from an obstacle lying in 
the animal's path. We must now add a third fundamental 
form of behavior, that of making a localizing movement. 
A simple illustration of the localizing reaction is found in 
the classical experiment usually performed in a beginner's 
course in physiology. If a sour substance is placed in con- 
tact with the skin of a decapitated frog, that foot of the 
animal which can most easily reach the spot, moves to the 
irritated spot, — as the spectator would probably say ''in 
order to wipe off the irritating thing.'' 

The Other-One is equipped by Nature with such reflexes 
that he acts in very much the same way as the decapitated 
frog does. If a pin pricks his left shoulder, the right arm 
moves until one of its fingers touches the point stimulated. 
If the right shoulder is pricked, the left hand moves toward 
it. If the upper lip is tickled, the lower lip or the tongue 
moves toward the spot. If the left ankle is irritated, the 
right foot goes towards it. In every case that part of the 
body which is most movable in the direction of the stim- 
ulated spot, moves toward the spot. 

What becomes of the localizing reflex in those senses in 
which the stimulating object need not itself approach the 
skin, but may and usually does act upon the body surface 
from a distance? The most important sense organ of this 
class is the retina of the eye. It is clear that when the 
Other-One stands before an apple tree and the red light 
coming from an apple stimulates a certain point on the 
lower half of his retina, it could do him no good to have 
his finger localize that point on his retina. The finger could 
not touch the retina, but only the cornea, the frontal layer 
of the eyeball. Even if it could touch the retina, however, 



]78 PSYCHOLOGY. OF THE OTHER-ONE 

no advantage could result comparable to that of wiping off 
or killing an insect when the finger localizes a spot on the 
skin. An advantage could result only from approaching the 
object from which the stimulus emanates, in this case the ap- 
ple. If the Other-One's finger approaches it enough to come 
in contact with the apple, this may cause the apple to fall 
and thus to become available to him as food. 

When we introduced as the third fundamental form of 
animal behavior that of making a localizing movement, we 
might at once have distinguished, and we do now distin- 
guish, two subdivisions, (1) localizing a stimulated point 
on the skin by that part of the body which is most movable 
in the direction of the stimulated point, and (2) localizing 
a distant point from which a stimulating effect emanates by 
that part of the body which is most capable of approaching 
along the line from the animal's body to that point of eman- 
ation. As in the first of these subdivisions of the localizing 
reaction, so in the second, the animal must be equipped by 
Nature with neuron chains, reflex paths, leading the ex- 
citation from the sensory point stimulated to that motor 
point (that is, set of muscles) which makes the particular 
localizing movement mechanically possible. 

Of all the senses in which we find reflex responses of 
localizing the point from which the stimulating effect em- 
anates, the visual sense is by far the most important. We have 
already referred to the reflex functioning in this case and 
shall go now more into the details. The refracting trans- 
parent media of the eyeball, the cornea and lens especially, 
break the rays of light so that the whole bundle oj rays 
emanating from an external point is collected again on the 
retina in approximately a single point. The effect of the 
cornea and lens, which really form a system of two lenses 
strengthening each other, is — apart from the intensity of 
the light admitted to the interior of the eyeball — very much 



VISUAL LOCALIZING REFLEX 179 

the same as if the eyeball possessed no refracting media at 
all, but consisted of a hollow sphere having a minute hole 
in front, like a so-called pin hole camera used for certain 
kinds of photographic work where, as with distant land- 
.scapes, light intensity is unim.portant and long exposure en- 
tirely feasible. 

Whenever we have to illustrate by a diagram any function 
of the eyeball, vv^e shall always represent the path of the 
light as if the eye simply had a pin hole in front (A in our 
figure) instead of a lens (B in our figure), since this sim- 
plifies the drawing immensely. It makes any figure more 
quickly and easily comprehensible because there is only 
one line for each actual bundle of light rays. And it per- 
mits equally well the explanation of all those facts in which 
we are interested as psychologists. It is clear from the 
figure that all the lines of light, for example, xy, cross in 
the pin hole. The light coming from above falls on the 
lower region of the retina, that coming from the left side 
falls upon the right side of the retina, and so forth. 



A PIN HOLE CAMERA AND A LENS CAMERA. 

Imagine now again that you have been appointed as- 
sistant to the Creator, and that you have been given the 
task of constructing a nervous system enabling the Other- 
One to perform the locahzing reaction when light strikes 
his eye. You surely would connect by a reflex path any 
point on the lower region of the retina with those muscles 
which are capable of moving the arm, or whatever you 



180 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-OXE 



choose as the most convenient movable hmb of the body, 
upwards. The lower the point on the retina which is stim- 
ulated, the more you would lead the reflex path in the 
direction of those muscle fibers w^hich are capable of throw- 
ing the arm still farther up. Your task is no more difficult 
than that of the line man of a telephone company. 

Exemplifying the second form of the localizing move- 
ment — localization in the direction from which the stim- 
ulating effect emanates — we spoke of the visual sense. It 
must not be inferred, however, that this is the only sense 
organ in whose function this locaHzation plays a role. A 
very important kind of localizing is that applied to a sound- 
ing object. The Other-One's right ear is connected by a 
reflex path with those muscles which move a part of his 
body most easily to the right ; that is, generally, those mus- 
cles which stretch the right arm toward the -right. His left 
ear is connected with those muscles of the body, especially 
those of the left arm, which may bring about a movement 
to the left. 

One may get a more concrete idea of the working of 
this reflex by performing a rather simple experiment with 
the Other-One which consists in localizing an infinitesimally 




APPARATrS FOR r.OCALIZIXG 
TEI.EPHONE CLICKS. 



brief tone. Seat him comfortably in a chair, with his eyes 
closed. Let him, after the usual "ready'' signal, hear a 



AUDITORY LOOALIZIN^G REFLEX 181 

telephone click and ask him where it was located. Of 
course, with a person you need not (although you may) use 
in this experiment the original reflex of pointing in this or 
that direction. Instead of that you let him tell you in words 
where the click seemed to be located. You use for the 
telephone a limited 'number of positions, say, front, back, 
left, right and the four intermediate positions on the same 
level, that of the ears. You may add as a ninth position 
that of above the head of the Other-One; and still further 
positions if you like, but definite ones to be agreed on be- 
forehand. 

When you analyze the results of the experiment you 
find that the (comparatively few) errors made by the 
Other-One never consist in a confusion between left and 
right. The fact that the total number of errors is small, 
is clearly due to the fact that in addition to the reflex here 
in question the Other-One utilizes various other reflexes, 
modified into habits, for his reaction, that is, for telling the 
direction of the sound. But the fact that there is once in 
a while confusion between the other directions, but never 
between right and left, illustrates the working of the local- 
izing reflexes of the left and the right ears. 

In the sense of smell we have localizing reflexes much like 
those in the sense of hearing. They do not play a great 
role in human life, because man does not use the sense of 
smell much for any purpose. The greatest use which can 
be made of the sense of smell consists in its application to 
the ground and the things on the ground. Animals can 
easily use this sense in this manner by simply lowering the 
head, even while running at a considerable speed. Man, 
in his usual erect position, cannot easily apply his sense of 
smell to the ground and the things on the ground. The re- 
sult is that the species man makes so little use of this sense 
in comparison with animals, for example with dogs, which 



182 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-OISTE 

can trace another animal on the ground hours after it has 
passed. Only extraordinarily strong (relatively strong) 
odors affect man. 

For many animals, however, these reflexes are of great 
usefulness, especially for those whose nostrils are more than 
man's nostrils exposed sidewise. A volatile substance 
present in, and moving with, the air, has then a chance to 
stimulate the sensory points of one side more strongly than 
those of the other side and to call forth a localizing reflex 
movement dominatingly toward one side of the body. 

As for localizing sound, so for localizing odors the Other- 
One and animals, too, actually use, not only the localizing 
reflex, but also localizing habits derived from entirely dif- 
ferent reflexes. We shall return to this fact on a later oc- 
casion w^hen these other reflexes are discussed. 

But there is this difference between the fact that the 
Other-One has two ears and two nostrils and the fact that 
he has two eyes. With respect to the locahzing movement 
which we have just discussed it is a mere luxury to have 
two eyes. One would be sufficient. The second is there 
merely for the sake of insurance in case the one should 
get broken. On the other hand, the proper localizing re- 
flex would be utterly impossible if the Other-One had one 
ear only, one nostril only. Either ear is to be compared, 
not at all with either eye, but w^ith a single point (of the 
thousands of sensory points) of a single eye. Localizing 
with the ear or nostril, where there are virtually not thou- 
sands, but only two sensory points, is accordingly restricted 
to one dimension ; localizing with the eye is extended over 
two dimensions. (But these remarks refer only to the local- 
izing reflexes. Localizing habits not derived from the local- 
izing reflexes and being of more than two dimensions will 
be discussed later, as already promised.) 



DIMENSION^SI IN LOCALIZING 183 

We have a chance to learn in this connection that prob- 
lems — pseudo-problems, we should prefer to say — which, 
if the old-fashioned psychologists were not puzzled by 
them, at least interested them enough to be discussed and 
''solved" by them, entirely disappear and, because they do 
not exist, call for no solution whatsoever. The older psy- 
chologists used to raise the question, in all seriousness : 
''Why is it that, altho in the eye (as in a photographic 
camera) the picture stands upside down, we 'see' the image 
upright?" The old-fashioned psychology used to ask what 
we "see" or what our selves are "conscious" of. But we 
ask in this book what the Other-One "does." When the 
lower region of his retina is stimulated, his arm moves 
up, because Nature gave him a reflex path as already 
described. There is no further problem left for solution, 
unless you call "a problem" the mere fact that Nature runs 
the reflex paths thru the Other-One's body from such 
points to such points that the stimulating object is "local- 
ized," and not to such motor points that the resulting move- 
ment is wasted because it fails to localize the stimulating 
object. 

A simple experiment demonstrating the strength of the 
localizing reflexes can be performed as follows. Think of 
a card on which the numbers from 1 to 16 are printed con- 
secutively in four lines. The card is transparent. You 
turn it over vertically, not like a book page, and look at 
the numbers from the reverse side. The numbers appear 
then as in our accompanying figure. 

Now place this card, as it appears in diminished size in 
the figure, before the Other-One together with sixteen little 
squares . which you have obtained by cutting another card, 
exactly like this, along the lines. Make him lo.ok at the 
card on the table and at the little squares in his hands thru 
a large enough (four or five inch) total reflection prism 



184 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 



placed so that it turns everything upside down and down- 
side up. Then all the numbers appear in his field of vision 
normal and those on the large card appear arranged in the 
regular order from the upper left to the lower right corner. 
Now make the Other-One distribute the squares in proper 
position over the card. He is thus obliged to break up the 
reflex and substitute the habit of moving his hand upwards 
when the upper region of the retina is stimulated, down- 
wards when the lower region of the retina is stimulated. 



13 


H 


\2 


19 


d 


10 


U 


13 


2 


9 


1 


8 


I 


3 


3 


4 



CARD USED IN BREAKING UP 
THE LOCALIZING REFLEX 

If we take the time required for each successive distribu- 
tion of the squares over the card, we have all the data for 
the construction of a curve of habit formation. This is 
interesting from the point of view of a previous chapter 
in which we discussed the learning process. But the reason 
for mentioning this experiment in the present connection 
is the one already referred to : Nothing could impress upon 
us more strikingly the existence of the localizing reflex 
than the performance of an experiment in which our task 
consists in breaking up this reflex, changing it into the 
reverse reaction. 

One of pur statements concerning the localizing reflexes 
must be enlarged. We said that it is the most readily mov- 
able part or limb of the body which performs the localizing 



POSITIVE, AND II^EGATIVE LOCALIZATION. 185 

movement. Under certain conditions, however, it may hap- 
pen that no part of the body can approach the point to be 
approached more easily than, or even as easily as, the body 
in its totality. In such a case Nature may make provision 
for a localizing reflex consisting in locomotion. Generally 
in such a case there is first a turning movement until the 
animal faces the source of the stimulus, and subsequently 
forward locomotion in this direction. We remember at 
once the case of the moth already discussed. 

We have thus far enumerated three forms, fundamental 
and inherited, of animal behavior. The first was locomotion 
of the animal in a straight line in response to the stimulus 
of lack of food. The second was turning in response to 
an obstacle lying in the path. The third was localizing a 
stimulus on the body surface or the source of an emanating 
stimulus in a certain outward direction. It should now be 
added that the localizing movement may be either positive 
or negative. That is, the reflex movement may be a stretch- 
ing of a limb or appendix of the animal toward the source 
of the stimulus ; but it may be, altho this is probably a rarer 
case, a bending and consequently a withdrawal of the ap- 
pendix from the source of the stimulus. In either case the 
movement would be along- the. same line, but it would be 
either in one or in the opposite direction. The distinction 
must therefore be made of a positive and a negative localiza- 
tion. This distinction becomes especially impressive when 
the localization is of the nature of a locomotion of the 
whole body: The animal either approaches the stimulus 
or moves away from it. The latter, the negative localiza- 
tion is obviously quite indispensable in the presence of 
certain stimuli, — of all those which are universally dele- 
terious. 

Because of its great importance this negative localization 
deserves to be counted as a special class of reflexes. Let 



186 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

US therefore count ''positive localization" as the third and 
''negative localization" as the fourth class of fundamental 
forms of behavior. 

We now have to add a fifth fundamental form of be- 
havior, that of grasping. We have pointed out in our dis- 
cussion of the positive localizing reflexes that one of their 
services consists in providing the organism with food. If 
the Other-One's finger approaches an apple on the tree 
enough to come in contact, the apple may fall and thus be- 
come available as food. But it becomes food still more cer- 
tainly if it is grasped and carried toward the mouth. The 
grasping reflexes, while serving still other purposes, may 
therefore be regarded chiefly as the natural companions of 
the positive localizing reflexes. 

In describing a grasping reflex, as in describing and de- 
fining any particular reflex, we have to state the nature of 
the stimulus, the sensory points on w^hich the stimulus acts, 
and the motor points which respond. The motor points of 
the body are to be found in this case in the flexor, that is, 
bending, muscles of any animal's limbs. The sensory points 
are to be found in the skin on the concave side of the same 
limb which bends, but also in other sense organs, for ex- 
ample, the taste organ. In the Other-One the sensory 
points of this reflex are located chiefly in the palm of the 
hand, including the corresponding side of the fingers, and 
in the sole of the foot. The stimulus is gentle pressure. 
Strong pressure does not serve this, but other reflexes. 
Tickle the sole of a sleeping person, and the limb bends in 
all its joints. That is, the toes bend and the bending of 
the leg in the hip and knee joints brings the foot closer to 
the trunk of the body. 

When it happens that an apple stimulates the eye, and 
the localizing reflex causes the arm and fingers to approach 
the apple so that the inner surface of the fingers or the 



GEASPING REFLEX 187 

palm of the hand is gently stimulated by the contact, the 
bending fingers surround the apple and the bending of 
the arm in the shoulder and elbow joints brings the apple 
closer to the body, very likely into the neighborhood of the 
mouth. Thus the localizing and grasping reflexes together 
accomplish the fulfillment of an important condition for the 
continuation of the Other-One's life. 

A sixth class of fundamental forms of behavior, for 
which Nature has provided in the nervous system many 
reflex paths, is that of adjusting the sense organs. Per- 
haps the simplest example of adjusting the sense organ so 
that its usefulness will be greatest, is to be found in the 
Other-One's cutaneous senses. Let us select from them 
for this discussion the sense of pressure on the skin. We 
shall have to give in the next chapter a fuller discussion of 
the fact that the discriminative capacity of the skin is 
greatest, that is, that the threshold is smallest, where the 
curvature of the surface is greatest, that is, at the finger 
tips and the Hps. 

Accordingly, when the Other-One must use his pressure 
sense, as when he has to find his way in the dark, or when 
he has to pick up food in the dark with his teeth (he is 
not supposed to have any particular table manners), it is 
of great advantage to him to stretch out his fingers so that 
the things among which he has to find his way come in 
contact first with his finger tips, or to get the food which 
is to pass into his mouth first in contact with his lips. It 
would be far less advantageous to him if the contact oc- 
curred on his knuckles or his elbow or his shoulder or his 
cheek, where his ability to discriminate is relatively de- 
ficient. 

The Other-One does not expose his lips to stimulation 
so much as he does his fingers. But animals which have no 
discriminative sensibility on those extremities which cor- 



188 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHEE-ONE 

respond to the Other-One's finger tips, expose their Hps 
to stimulation in a similar manner as the Other-One does 
his fingers. Remember how a horse or rabbit applies its 
lips before taking anything into its mouth, or how an ele- 
phant uses the tip of its trunk toward a similar end. In 
all these cases the animal adjusts its cutaneous sense organ 
by exposing to stimulation that part where the threshold of 
discrimination is smallest, the sensibility greatest. 

Let us now consider the adjustments of the Other-One's 
visual sense organ. There are three, (1) the adjustment 
of the direction of the axis of the eye, (2) the adjustment 
of the size of the pupil, (3) the adjustment of the curv- 
ature of the lens. 

The discriminative sensibility is much greater in the cen- 
ter, the fovea (pit), of the retina than in its peripheral 
parts. If an object stimulates a peripheral point on the 
retina, the eye muscles surrounding the eyeball — of which 
there are six, three pairs — contract reflexly in such a man- 
ner that the axis approaches the direction of the beam of 
light. The result is that that part of the retina is exposed 
to the stimulation where the discrimination is greatest, — 
the central part, the fovea. The service of this reflex is 
therefore entirely like that of the adjusting reflex in the 
pressure sense of the skin. 

Since both e3^es are adjusted in this way, the result is 
that the axes of the eyes form an angle, the so-called angle 
of convergence, which is the more acute the greater the dis- 
tance of the object whence the light emanates. When the 
angle of convergence is very small, there is naturally very 
little difference in the degree of contraction of the antago- 
nistic muscles of each eyeball. The larger the angle, the 
more unequal is the degree of contraction of the antago- 
nistic muscles on the two sides of the eyeball. This is in no 
way related to the present discussion of the fact that the 



ADJUSTIISTG THE SEOSTSE OUGAISrS 189 

adjustment of the sense organs is an important class of 
reflexes. The relation between this angle and the .muscular 
tension is mentioned here because we shall in a later chapter 
have to refer to this angle; and it will then not be neces- 
sary to explain again to what reflexes the angle of converg- 
ence owes its existence. 

The second adjustment mentioned is that of the size of 
the pupil. In front of the lens is located a diaphragm, the 
visible part of which we call the iris, and in accordance with 
the color of which we call an eye blue, gray, brown, etc. 
The hole of the diaphragm, which appears dark because of 
the dark cavity behind it, is the pupil.' The pupil is the 
larger, the weaker the general illumination of the objects 
of which the environment consists. When the retina is 
more stronglv stimulated, the response is a contraction of 
the pupil. 

This means, then, that the stronger the outside light is, 
the smaller the fraction of it admitted to each point of the 
retina of the eye. In consequence, the stimulation of the 
retina does not increase in proportion as the light increases, 
but much less. The range of the light intensities under the 
influence of which the Other-One's retina can properly 
function is thus extended, for the maximum excitation 
beyond which the retina could not properly function, is not 
reached so soon. 

The third adjustment of the eye consists in the accommo- 
dation of the lens. Certain muscle fibers located within 
the eye ball change the curvature of the lens in such a man- 
ner that the lens is the flatter the greater the distance of 
the object stimulating the eye. The optical efifect is this: 
in spite of the varying distances at which the object may 
be, all the light emanating from any point of the object is 
again invariably collected in a point on the retina and not 
diffused over an area. Since we call such a point — on the 



190 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

object as well as on the retina — a focus (hearth, fire place), 
the adjustment of accommodating the eye to the distance is 
sometimes also called focusing. Accommodation, however, 
is the preferable term, because it has always been the cus- 
tomary one among physiologists and psychologists. 

The reflex in question may then be described as follows. 
Only w^hen the retinal elements are stimulated in such a 
manner that those stimulated with the same qualitative ef- 
fect of excitation form groups on the retina with sharply 
defined outlines, is the tension of the accommodating mus- 
cles left unchanged, whatever it happens to be. While this 
description of the reflex has a somewhat negative form, it 
is more accurate than any equally brief positive description 
could be. 

If these areas of retinal elements of like excitation do 
not possess sharply defined outlines, but encroach upon each 
other, overlap, the muscles of the accommodating apparatus 
begin to undergo a change of tension, accidentally either in 
such a way that they flatten the lens or in such a way that 
they cause the surface of the lens to bulge, until it happens 
that the group outlines referred to become so sharp that 
the accommodating muscles cease to be affected, that they 
remain henceforth in the unchanged state of tension men- 
tioned in the preceding paragraph. This places upon the 
architect of the nervous system a difficult problem of archi- 
tecture and engineering. How Nature has solved it, we do 
not yet know. 

In the auditory sense organ we find again three kinds of 
reflex adjustment. One is that thru action of the muscle 
which is called the tensor tympani. It is of physiological 
rather than of psychological interest and therefore here but 
briefly mentioned. 

Another adjustment is the change in the direction of the 
external leaf, which is popularly called the ear altho it is 
a rather insignificant part of the auditory equipment. We 



ADJUSTING THE SENSE ORGANS 191 

know how such animals as horses and donkeys move their 
ears, with the result of catching more of the sound waves 
passing thru the air, in accordance with the direction of 
the sound. Human beings make so little use of this reflex 
that those who in adult life exhibit even a trace of it, are 
regarded almost as curiosities. 

The most important one in the Other-One's life of these 
three adjusting reflexes of the auditory organ is that of 
turning the head until its median plane, the plane which 
divides the head into two symmetrical halves, coincides with 
the direction of the sound waves. The exact working of 
this reflex can be described more easily than it may at first 
seem. Physical investigations (especially those of G. W. 
Stewart) have shown that the total sound efifect, that is, 
the sum of the two sound effects in the two ears physically 
measured, assumes its greatest value when the source of 
sound is located in the median plane of the head ; and that 
the total sound effect decreases rapidly with the increase of 
the angle between the median plane and the direction (pos- 
itive or negative) of the sound. The reflex, therefore, 
works as follows. 

As soon as the auditory organ is stimulated, the muscles 
of the head begin to turn the head in either direction. In 
what direction they pull at first, we may regard as an acci- 
dent. If the total sound effect decreases, at once the muscles 
antagonistic to those that were pulling, begin to pull the head 
around in the opposite direction and continue to do so until 
there is again a decrease in the total excitation of both 
auditory organs together. Naturally this happens directly 
after the median plane has swung thru the fine of the propa- 
gation of the sound. Now the first set of muscles again 
reverses the motion. But the ultimate effect must then 
quickly be that of fixing the median plane so that the di- 
rection of the sound coincides with it. 



192 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

Thus far the consequence might be that the Other-One 
either faces the source of sound or has it in his back. But 
since the two ear leaves interfere with the sound in such a 
manner that its effect on the organ is greatly diminished 
when it comes from the back, there is only one absolute 
maximum for the sum of the two excitations in both ears 
together, and that maximum occurs when the Other-One 
faces the sound. 

You can easily convince yourself of how much difference 
it makes whether the Other-One has such leaves attached 
to his head or not, even tho he cannot direct their openings 
toward the sound as many animals can. Of course, we can- 
not cut them ofif for this purpose, but we can easily prove 
it without any such operation. Just let the Other-One hold 
his hollow hands before his ears, thus counteracting the 
effect of the two natural leaves by two much larger artificial 
ones. Let him try it while he is listening to you speaking 
behind him. Ordinarily your words would then be difficult 
to catch. xA.t once he tells you that he can hear you much 
more distinctly, quite normally. Let him try it while you 
are speaking before him, and he w^ill tell you that he can 
hardly understand you any longer. 

The advantage of this reflex of turning the head is both 
a direct and an indirect one. The direct one is that of the 
best possible exposure of the total auditory sense equipment. 
That is, it is a reflex response to sound resulting in an ad- 
justment of the sense organ of sound. But incidentally it 
is at the same time an adjustment of other sense organs. 
For example, the eyes are now better exposed to the object 
sounding in case this object should act also as a visual stim- 
ulus. The same indirect advantage of better exposure may 
result to the olfactory sense, the cutaneous sense of the 
hands, and other senses. 



LOCALIZI:^;^G habits 193 

The physicists, as just stated, discovered that the total 
excitation of both our auditory organs combined is great- 
est, for physical causes, when the source of sound is in the 
median plane and in front of the head. With much less 
physical insight everyone knows that for a person who has 
only one ear in functioning condition, the excitation reaches 
a maximum when the source of sound is on the side of the 
head, and fronting the auditory organ which is intact. The 
one-eared person therefore refiexly adjusts his sense organ 
by turning the head until the excitation is strongest when 
the source of sound is located opposite his healthy ear or, 
because of the influence of the ear leaf, a little forward of 
that position. If he then acquires the habit of turning his 
head about ninety degrees in a particular direction 
he obtains by habit the advantage of exposing the other 
sense organs (visual, cutaneous, etc.) which the normal per- 
son obtains thru the possession of the reflex adjustment 
of the organ of hearing. 

When the one-eared person has thus learned to stretch 
out his arm with the result of bringing his fingers in con- 
tact with the sounding object, the movement deserves to 
be called a ''localizing habit" comparable to the auditory 
''localizing reflex" w^hich we have mentioned among the 
localizing reflexes in general. This leads us to a further 
brief consideration, previously promised, of the manner 
in which reflexes ¥/hich are not originally localizing reflexes 
may become localizing habits, that is, may be used as if they 
were localizing reflexes. The reflex actions which serve 
directly the purpose of an adjustment of the sense organs, 
serve with special ease this additional purpose. 

A typical example is that of turning the head until a 
sound stimulus is located in the median plane of the head. 
In this location, we remember, the total effect is greatest, 
provided also that the head faces the stimulus. If now 



194 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

the organism has been furnished by Nature also with re- 
flexes which adjust the position of the whole body to the 
position of one of its parts, in this case the head, the body, 
moving forward, will move toward the source of the sound. 

This indirect localization of sound by means of the reflex 
which serves directly the adjustment of the sense organ 
happens to become of greater importance in actual life than 
the direct localizing reflex. The reason for it is not difficult 
to see. This indirect localization is far more exact, being 
applicable to any angle and not confined merely to localizing 
on the right or the left side of the body : It is two-dimen- 
sional, that is, not merely one-dimensional and distinguish- 
ing only the directions in the single dimension right-left. 
Nevertheless, the direct localizing reflex is not superfluous, 
for it alone is available when the sound to be locahzed is 
of such short duration that no adjusting head movement can 
be completed while the sound lasts. Therefore the ex- 
periment of localizing a telephone click (intentionally not 
a prolonged tone) is a test of the true localizing reflex. 

In the olfactory sense we find two reflex adjustments. 
One is similar to the auditory adjustment last discussed. 
That is, the frontal part of the median plane of the head 
is made to coincide with the location of the volatile sub- 
stance from which the stimulus emanates. The other ad- 
justment consists in breath control. When the air is draw^n 
in forcefully thru the nostrils (in extreme cases we call 
this sniffing), the sensory surfaces in the nasal cavities are 
exposed to more of the stimulating molecules than they 
would otherwise come in contact with during a unit of 
time. If breathing is stopped altogether for a short time, 
very few molecules of the stimulating substance will be able 
to penetrate during this time far enough into the nasal 
cavities to reach the sensory surfaces. 

Just as the auditory adjusting reflex last mentioned may 
be used, by habit, for sound localization, so the olfactory ad- 



localizi:n'g habits 195 

justing reflex may be and is developed into a smell localizing 
habit. For example, we see the Other-One, bhndfolded, 
turn his head and body until the excitation in his nasal 
cavities is strongest, and then reach for the bunch of flowers 
which we hold ready for him. 

Six classes of fundamental forms of animal behavior 
have now been disting-uished. (1) Locomotion in a straight 
line in response to lack of food. (2) Turning the body axis 
sidewise in response to an obstacle. (3) Positive localiza- 
tion in its two forms, on the body surface and in the direc- 
tion of a distant stimulus. (4) Negative localization. (5) 
Grasping. (6) Adjustment of the sense organs. — A seventh 
class is to be added to this list. Animals respond to certain 
stimuli, sometimes internal, sometimes external stimuli, by 
the contraction of certain muscles whose function is of no 
direct consequence to the animal itself, but afifects other 
animals by stimulating them to act, — often animals of the 
same species, but perhaps no less frequently animals of a 
different species. Since this is what w^e call in the social 
life of human beings "signaling,'' let us call this class the 
signaling reflexes. 

A few, but very diversified examples of the signaling 
reflexes are the lighting up of a fire fly, the squeezing out 
of a black liquid from the ink bladder of a cuttle-fish, the 
communication of a shock by an electric eel, the crowing 
of a rooster, the barking of a dog, the spreading of its tail 
feathers by a pea-cock. These reflex activities, we said, are 
to affect other animals by stimulating them. How, by what 
reflexes, these other animals respond to this kind of stimu- 
lation, does not directly concern us here. So much is clear, 
that if no other animals are present, or these other animals 
fail to respond by their own reflexes, the former reflex 
actions are completely wasted. Neither of these cases is 
rare. We have to say more of this waste later. 



196 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

It is clear, however, and therefore may be stated at once, 
that these responses of the other animals are chiefly their 
localizing reflexes, positive and negative. The signaling, 
that is, is of the nature of attraction or repulsion. It is of 
great importance in the sexual life of animals ; but also in 
innumerable other forms of co-operative activity. And it is 
of hardly less importance in the social, but not co-operative, 
— or call it anti-social, if you prefer — activity which goes 
under the name of fighting. 

The stimuli calling out the signaling reflex actions in the 
first animal vary so much from species to species that very 
little can be said concerning them which would be true in 
general. However, they are, as already stated, either in- 
ternal or external. The most common kind of external 
stimuli of the signaling reflexes are visual, for example, 
the light of the early morning which makes the rooster 
crow ; but especially the visual appearance of the whole 
other animal in various attitudes. Smell and sound stimuli 
originating in the other animal are probably not of much 
less importance. The internal stimuli are, under special 
conditions, organic and secretory stimuli resulting from 
the physiological processes going on in the body itself. They 
play their role and become effective even when there is no 
other animal in the neighborhood upon which the signal 
resulting from the reflex could have any effect. But, of 
course, there always might be one not too far away. 

Let us turn now to the motor aspect of these reflexes. It 
is plain that the most indispensable kind of signaling is that 
thru a distance. However, signaling may occur by con- 
tact, acting on the cutaneous sense. Handshaking is a con- 
ventional form of signaling by contact. It is a modification 
of such reflex crowding together as may be seen with rab- 
bits, or with chickens sitting on a roost, where none wants 
to be at the end of the line or to be alone, but every new- 



SIGI^ALII^G REFLEXES 197 

comer tends to crowd in between two already close together. 
By handshaking the Other-One signals to us that he is to 
stand together with us, literally and figuratively. 

But there is a greater need for signaling thru a distance. 
When the other animal or person is in my neighborhood, 
he is exposed to the same stimuli to which I am exposed, 
and in reacting to them we may co-operate. But when he 
is at a distance, I have to call him, to signal to him, in 
order that we may co-operate. 

The greater the distance thru which it is able to work, 
the less limited the applicability of the signal. One might 
think, then, that the most effective kind of signaling would 
be by reflex activity producing stimuli which affect the 
other animal's visual sense. But that is not necessarily so. 
Optical stimuli reach very far, but they have to go virtually 
in a straight line. Acoustical stimuli, on the other hand, 
go less far, but quite readily around the corners of inter- 
vening things. While light may reach my eyes thru billions 
of miles from a distant star, a friend standing only a hun- 
dred yards away in a dense forest may be invisible to me. 
He can not signal to me optically. But I can hear his voice, 
whose effect is not shaded from me by the intervening 
trees. 

We find, therefore, that in the higher animals the sig- 
naling mechanism for the production of acoustical stimuli 
is as highly developed as that for the production of optical 
stimuli. 

Let us mention a few examples of reflex signaling among 
human beings, in which optical stimuli are used, that is, 
stimuli acting on the visual sense of the Other-One. Such 
signals are the shaking of a fist, the showing of the teeth, 
the blushing of the face, when one gets ready to fight his 
enemy. If the Other-One responds to these signals by run- 



198 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

ning away, so that one does not have to fight him at all, 
the signals have served their purpose well. 

That animals as w^ell as infants possess by inheritance 
reflexes of reacting to such signals, there is not doubt. They 
react to signals of form as well as of color, by reflex and 
also, of course, later by habit. 

The present waiter has repeatedly observed that children 
a few months old, with no experience whatsoever as to 
danger from animals, reacted definitely and strongly with 
shrinking, tension of the facial muscles, and crying when 
shown the face of a stuffed puppet representing a little 
pig of simple features like those of our figure. Since the 
reaction was the same in the case of different children and 
of somewhat different puppets, the conclusion is to be 
drawn that it was a reaction to the common features of 
these puppets, consisting in a circular head, two conspic- 
uous circles w^ithin, the eyes, and a conspicuous triangle, 
the snout, as shown in the figure. Obviously, then, the sen- 
sory points of the child's eyes are by inheritance combined 
into a large number, perhaps thousands, of groups so that 
all the points stimulated by an appearance, in upright 




A FORM SIGNAL 
CALLING FORTH 
NEGATIVE 
LOCALIZATION. 



position, more or less like that of our figure, send their 
excitations to a single motor point or a single central 
point whence the flux is redistributed to cause the definite 
reactions mentioned. There are probably also many other 



SIGNALING EEFLEXES 199 

kinds of such groups, of other shapes, inherited by each 
individual of the human and animal race. In animals, 
too, similar definite reactions to the appearance of an 
object never experienced before have been reported by 
various observers. 

That animals possess reflex responses to signals of light 
or color (independent of form) is also beyond doubt. 

On the other hand, someone may find it difficult to under- 
stand that the color change of the first animal itself can be 
a reflex, that is, the result of a nervous current. For ex- 
ample, how can the signal of blushing of the face result 
from a nervous current? Do not think that this is less 
easily understood to be a reflex than are the other signals. 
Blushing means simply an increase of the blood quantity 
in the skin. And this is due to a relaxation of the ring- 
shaped muscle fibers in the walls of the blood vessels, which 
are now by expanding capable of yielding to the blood pres- 
sure and of carrying a larger quantity of blood. 

For acoustical signaling most of the higher species of an- 
imals are equipped with a special sound producing appara- 
tus. This is. of great complexity in man. It may be re- 
garded as consisting of two chief subdivisions, the blowing 
mechanism and the resonating mechanism. The former 
consists of the muscles varying the volume of the chest 
cavity, that is, (1) the diaphragm, stretched out below the 
chest, and (2) the muscles acting on the ribs. The reso- 
nating mechanism depends on the following six groups of 
muscles, each of these groups being capable of acting locally 
or in concert with the other five: (1) the muscles of the 
upper lip, (2) those of the lower lip, (3) those moving the 
lower jaw relatively to the upper jaw, (4) those of the 
soft palate, whose chief function consists in' closing or 
opening to the air the nasal passage, (5) those of the tongue, 
and (6) those of the larynx, whose chief function consists 



200 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-OlSrE 

in bringing the two cushions, rather inadequately named the 
vocal ''cords/' of the larynx closer together or keeping them 
farther apart. These eight groups of muscles, together 
with the parts of the body on which they act, make up what 
we call our vocal organs or speech organs. 

Leaving here the signaling reflexes we turn to an eighth 
fundamental form of animal behavior. Animals — with the 
exception, perhaps, of lower animals — sleep at certain times, 
especially during the night. 

Sleep may interest the investigator from many points of 
view. One may ask, for example, what benefit the animal 
derives from sleeping. One may try to give a complete de- 
scription of everything characteristic of the condition of 
sleep. One may ask whether this condition depends for 
its initiation and continuance on reflexes ; and, if on other 
conditions, on what others. The most universally appli- 
cable, but not the only true, answer to the first question is, 
that the animal recuperates during sleep from fatigue, es- 
pecially from fatigue of the nervous system. 

As to the second question, a complete description of all 
the characteristics of sleep is out of the question in this 
book. But the chief characteristics of this condition of life 
must be mentioned. They are two. (1) A sleeping animal 
assumes a pecuHar posture. (2) A sleeping animal does not 
respond to stimuli as readily in the customary manner as a 
waking animal. The first of these two is to some extent the 
cause of the second. 

The pecuHar posture of the Other-One — if we restrict 
ourselves to considering him — does not consist merely in the 
fact that he is lying and not standing. It consists also in 
the fact that his sense organs are more or less covered up. 
This is especially true for the eyes, but for other sense 
organs too. The ears are sometimes more or less covered, 
for example, by the neighborhood of his pillow or his own 



SLEEPIISrG REFLEXES 201 

arm. The nostrils are not always exposed to drafts of air 
as freely as ordinarily. The skin is exposed to stimulation 
less than ordinarily. The very absence of strong skeletal 
motions prevents stimulation which might come from the 
body itself. 

But even when stimuli have access to the sense organs 
quite as under ordinary conditions, the Other-One does not 
respond to them readily in his customary ways. Speak to 
the Other-One while he is asleep, and he does not open his' 
mouth for a reply. Of course, in saying this we take it 
for granted that you do not speak to him in an overloud 
voice. The explanation of the fact that we find him so 
unresponsive is obviously a condition of preoccupation, of 
absent-mindedness, in which he happens to be. We have dis- 
cussed preoccupation in a former chapter and found that it 
results from having for a considerable time responded 
strongly to a certain class of stimuli by a certain class of 
reactions. But to what stimuli by what reactions in the 
present case? And what reactions therefore take the place 
of opening his mouth and speaking? The answer will 
presently be given. 

Let us turn to the third question, which we can now 
easily answer. Are there any reflexes on which the initia- 
tion and continuance of sleeping depend? How are these 
reflexes described in their sensory and motor aspects? 

They are, clearly, reflexes which have their adequate 
stimuli partly in daily recurring external conditions, such 
as darkness, (and also in seasonal conditions such as tem- 
perature, in the winter sleep of animals,) partly in internal 
conditions such as the physiological term ''fatigue" refers 
to. The animal then retires, lies down, covers up, closes 
its eyes, etc. All these are muscular activities of a per- 
fectly definite description. These muscular activities (keep- 
ing a certain posture is also a muscular activity), these re- 



202 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

flex responses to the stimuli mentioned, then continue a 
considerable length of time. 

No wonder, then, that the Other-One becomes "preoc- 
cupied." We ask him his name. He only closes his eyes 
tighter, covers himself up better. We let the alarm ring. 
He only presses his ears tighter into the pillows. Indeed, 
the Other-One being a possessor of habits, it could not al- 
together surprise us if his preoccupation should even lead 
to taking the alarm clock and throwing it out of the win- 
dow. ''It's nice to get up in the morning; but it's nicer 
to lie in bed.'' 

Recapitulating, then, we can say that the phase of Hfe 
called sleeping depends on the reflexes of sleeping. These 
reflexes bring about a posture generally unfavorable to 
stimulation. Their continued function — as any other con- 
tinued nervous function — leads to preoccupation, so that 
the stimuli still capable of acting on the sense organs are 
as likely as, or even more likely .than, to call forth their 
adequate responses, to bring about 'merely the continued 
reflex response of the sleeping posture. 

Finally the stimuli characteristic of the sleeping reflexes 
cease. Darkness ceases. Fatigue in the body disappears. 
These reflexes function then more and more weakly, and 
gradually the preoccupation disappears. Other stimuli in- 
crease. It gets lighter. The noise of the day makes its ap- 
pearance. People present themselves in the neighborhood 
of the Other-One and, intentionally or unintentionally, 
stimulate him more strongly and yet more strongly. Finally 
the Other-One reacts to one of these stimuli strongly and 
adequately : — he begins to wake up. He reacts to further 
stimuli of this ordinary class in the same manner, ade- 
quately : — he is fully awake. His adequate reaction is 
what we call his wakefulness. 

Having now discussed eight fundamental forms of ani- 
mal behavior — eight classes of reflexes or instinctive ac- 



RIGHT-SIDEDNESS 203 

tivities — it occurs to us to ask whether right-handedness is 
a ninth or should somehow find a place among them. First, 
however, we must substitute the term ''right-sidedness'' for 
right-handedness, for the greater frequency of using the 
right side is not restricted to the Other-One's arm, but 
is equally obvious in the leg and in the head. But our 
definition of a reflex does not apply to right-sidedness. It 
is true, there is, in a sense, a particular ''motor point" to 
which reference is made. But there is no such "sensory 
point " as the definition of a reflex requires. 

We must say, therefore, that right-sidedness is not in 
itself a reflex, but that it is a peculiarity of other reflexes, — 
of those in which the motor point may, purely from the 
mechanical point of view, be located on either side of the 
Other-One's body. Among those reflexes in which right- 
sidedness may make its appearance, the most conspicuous 
class are the positive localizing reflexes, making up the 
third among our eight classes. 

It is so well known that it need hardly be mentioned 
here that the left-sidedness of the minority of members of 
the human race corresponds in every respect to the right- 
sidedness of the majority, so far as the psychologist is in- 
terested in the matter. Outside of the human race right- 
sidedness seems to exist only, in some degree, in the an- 
thropoid apes, and a little of it perhaps in the elephant. 

A remarkable fact is that right-sided people show left- 
sidedness when they are small babies. Toward the middle 
of the first year (but by no means at this, the same definite, 
time in all individuals) or sooner or later the preference dis- 
appears, and both hands are now used with about equal 
frequency. During the second year (there being again 
great individual variations) the right hand begins to predom- 
inate. When habits of using a hand, as in eating at the table 
or in using a pencil, establish themselves, social influences 



204 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

greatly strengthen the right-sidedness, for the teacher gen- 
erally insists that the pupil use the right hand. But when 
the child learns to skate, and nobody tells him whether to 
slide a certain curve on one foot or on the other, he easily 
discovers himself, not only that he is right-sided rather 
than left-sided, but also that he is right-sided rather than 
merely right-handed. We shall have to say a little more 
about this in a later chapter, in discussing rhythm. 

The change from left-sidedness to right-sidedness during 
babyhood seems to find its explanation in the following 
facts and conclusions. As to the time of the development 
of the right hemisphere of the brain in comparison with 
the left, we are entitled to a conclusion from analogy. The 
human brain with its complex functions is not fully de- 
veloped until years after birth. The brain of larger animals 
of a longevity comparable to that of man, with its simpler, 
but no less important functions, is fully developed some 
months after birth. May not a similar rule govern the 
development of the left and the right hemispheres? The 
temporal part of the left hemisphere, with its highly com- 
plex speech functions, is not fully developed, until years 
after birth — so much we know. By analogy we conclude 
that the symmetrically corresponding part of the right 
hemisphere, with its simpler, though no less important 
functions, develops to maturity at a much earlier period. 

If this is so, activity of that hand which is governed by 
the right hemisphere, must become conspicuous at a much 
earlier period than activity of the other hand. Indeed, 
the left hand, whose muscles are closely connected with the 
temporal part of the right hemisphere, is the preferred mem- 
ber in the activities of the first few months after birth. Thus 
the fact that a normal human child is at first left-handed 
appears plain enough. 

On the other hand, the question why the human adult is 
one-sided and right-sided is an entirely different one. The 



KIGHT-SIDEDNESS 205 

answer to the first half of this question, why he is one- 
sided, we can leave entirely to the physiologists. The 
answer to the second half of the question, why he is right- 
sided, may be found in his need of securing protection, fur- 
nished by Nature thru heredity, for his most vital organ, 
his heart. The heart, previously covered, becomes ex- 
posed (in consequence of man's erect position) to the 
enemy fighting with weapons (in consequence of his erect 
position) rather than with his jaws. Right-sidedness gives 
some protection to the heart. 

One might think, further, that a mistake has been made 
in not mentioning among the Other-One's reflexes or in- 
stinctive activities the important activity of walking. But 
we have hardly any right to regard that as instinctive. The 
reflexes of locomotion seem to be poorer in the species 
man than in many animals. Even creeping, in babies, 
seems to be an acquired habit rather than an instinctive ac- 
tivity. Walking is probably a compound habit, built up 
out of the habit of balancing on one (either) leg plus the 
positive localizing reflexes. 

The complete ability of locomotion in the upright po- 
sition involves two distinct abilities of muscular action: 
the ability to rise from a lying to a standing position and 
the ability to balance on either leg. The ability to rise is 
only imperfectly developed as long as holding on an object, 
a chair or the like, is necessary in order to rise. This im- 
perfect ability usually precedes by several months the 
child's ability to rise to his feet from the floor without the 
aid of any supporting object. The ability to balance on 
(either) one leg is naturally preceded — as a rule — by the 
ability to balance on both legs, which, on the whole, is more 
easily acquired. 

The governing reflex of the whole group in question 
seems to be that of straightening the legs in response, to 



206 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

pressure against the soles. A child about nine months old, 
or even considerably younger, may absolutely ''refuse" to 
be held on anybody's arms in a sitting, flexible position. The 
reflex of straightening the legs causes a stiffening of the 
body. The mother then naturally places the child, no 
longer easily held in her arms when in this straight position, 
with his feet on her knees, or a table, or the floor. The 
child then stands, in a way, but retains this standing position 
only because he is kept from tumbling by his mother's 
arms. Soon the child learns to use his own hands, in the 
control of which he has by this time already acquired con- 
siderable skill, in order to keep from tumbling. He grasps 
whatever is in sight and reach and thus learns to keep in a 
standing position. 

While the child is standing before an object, holding on 
with both hands, one of the hands accidentally loses its 
grasp, the body weight is thrown on the leg of the other 
side, and consequently that leg is straightened. The body 
as a whole, perhaps, is thus somewhat raised, and with it 
that leg which remained slightly bent. But now this leg, 
hanging and subject to the efl^ect of gravity, straightens 
somewhat ; and w^hen the body regains its vertical position 
and the foot of this leg touches the ground, it straightens 
perfectly, owing to the reflex repeatedly mentioned. The 
weight of the body is thus thrown again — lightly — upon 
the other leg. A swinging movement of the body may thus 
result, from the left to the right, from the right to the left, 
and so forth. This is balancing sideways. 

It is clear that this movement needs only a slight modifica- 
tion to become a regular walking movement. Children who 
are just beginning to walk, do indeed, usually, walk in this 
pendulum-like fashion, comparable to the walking of a 
sailor. 

One finds here and there in psychological literature the 
assertion that the walking of a child is the result of an in- 



LEAEI^ING TO WALK 207 

stinct consisting in a tendency of the legs to swing fore and 
back in directions opposite to each other, and that these in- 
stinctive movements can be observed in a baby a few 
months old when held suspended. While such opposite fore 
and back swinging movements of the legs may sometimes 
be observed, it seems doubtful if they have much significance 
for the acquisition of the ability to w^alk, since one does not 
walk in suspension, but on a supporting surface. In any 
case, it is possible to derive the alternate movements of 
the legs in walking from the reflex of straightening each 
leg in response to pressure against the sole, without assum- 
ing any specific "instinct of walking." 

We described how a child may learn to stand alone, 
balancing himself sideways. But in order to stand really 
alone he must also keep from losing his balance in the 
forward and backward directions. From falling forward 
he may be kept by the same reflex of straightening men- 
tioned before. When the body begins to move forward, 
less weight is placed on the heels and more on the soles. 
Accordingly the foot straightens, the heel is raised above 
the ground and the body is kept from moving forward 
since the centre of gravity is now behind the point of sup- 
port. 

On the other hand, when the body begins to move back- 
ward, more and more weight is placed on the heels, the 
pressure on the soles vanishes, and the muscles which keep 
the legs straight relax. The knees then bend forward and 
thus a part of the weight of the body is thrown in front of 
the previous center of gravity, thus restoring the balance. 

Just as the swinging of the body to the left and right, so 
these kinds of movement have great significance for walk- 
ing. In the walking movements of a grown person the 
heel of one foot, when the body is already falHng forward, 
rises with the straightening of the foot and raises, with 



208 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

the whole body, the other foot perhaps quite sufficiently 
from the floor. This other foot, now free, by the mere 
force of gravity swings forward. 

We have been trying to explain how a child learns to 
balance his body in the upright position, both sideways and 
front-back, without having to hold to an object. This bal- 
ancing is virtually already walking. Before this accom- 
plishment of standing free, the child usually begins to walk 
along by pieces of furniture, changing the hold of his hands 
as he walks on. What reflex is the basis of this locomotion? 
It seems that, in response to a visual stimulation, not only 
the hand but the foot, too, stretches toward the thing which 
impresses the eye. This is simply the positive localizing 
reflex. 

The localizing reflex is the essential factor changing 
standing (balancing) into true walking. Imagine a child 
standing before a bench, holding on with both hands, and 
an object, say, a pencil, lying on the end of the bench to 
the right. The efl^ect of the stimulation of the eye by the 
pencil is a stretching of the right arm and the right leg to 
the right. The body then falls to the right until the right 
foot again touches the ground. The body is now some- 
what displaced to the right. The feet are farther apart 
than normally and are therefore, in consequence of special 
reflexes which we need not discuss, brought together to 
their normal position, but of course without any essential 
change of the body sideways. Now the whole stretching 
of the right hand and the right foot to the right is repeated 
until the hand grasps the object. Thus comes about walk- 
ing along pieces of furniture or the walls of the room. 

In the same way free walking results after the child has 
learned to balance himself without any support by his 
hands. While standing, in response to a stimulation of his 
eyes by an object he moves one leg slightly toward the ob- 



LEARNING TO WALK 209 

ject, shifts his weight so that it rests on this leg and draws 
the other leg after, secures his balance, then moves again 
the first leg toward the object, and so on. One might call 
this form of locomotion walking on one leg only. In a 
week or two this one-sidedness gives place to the regular 
form of walking in which both legs take part equally. For 
many months thereafter, however, a child's walk remains 
clumsy because the legs are kept so far apart, owing to the 
anatomical fact that this opening of the legs sideways is 
the normal position until birth, which but gradually changes 
into that of the older child ^nd adult, and also to the fact 
that balancing is easier in this position. 

Usually a child learns to balance himself standing still 
without support by his hands, before he learns to move in 
the upright position. But there are exceptional cases where 
children, being held in the upright position, are suddenly 
attracted by an object, perhaps the mother's voice, and start 
off running successfully five or six steps until they have 
reached the object. 

If wa4king is thus the outgrowth of standing, it is well 
to ''encourage'' free standing as much as possible after the 
baby has learned to stand while holding to things. What 
does it mean to ''encourage" him ? Let us reduce the pro- 
cess to its essential elements. (1) The child, when beginning 
to tumble, reflexly draws in his legs. (2) He has often tum- 
bled, when standing and losing the hold of his hands. (3) 
Subsequently, by habit, he draws in his legs at once (in 
other words, he sits down) when standing and losing the 
hold of his hands. But he cannot practice balancing his 
body if he sits down. Therefore (4) we give his hands 
the same or similar sensory impressions as if they were sup- 
porting the body. 

For example, we let the standing child grasp for support 
a small stick or pencil which we are holding, and then. 



210 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-OlSrE 

gradually, we cease to hold it. The child then balances 
and, although nothing supports him, receives almost the 
same stimuli in his hands and eyes as if he were still sup- 
ported by the stick in his hands. The process of balancing 
suffers no sudden interference by a new stimulation (caused 
by the withdrawal of an object from his hands) and its 
reaction of sitting down. The ''encouragement" which we 
give the child is therefore a purely negative event in the 
education of his nervous system : we keep an obstacle out 
of the way. 

In psychological, and even more in sociological, dis- 
cussions certain ''human instincts" are often spoken of, 
w^hich we do not care to enumerate among the fundamental 
forms of behavior of animals and of the Other-One for 
which Nature has made provision by heredity. We ought 
to give our reason why we do not regard them as special 
classes. Let us for this purpose give first the complete 
list of the eight forms of behavior which we have regarded 
as most interesting from our point of view. 

1. Locomotion in a straight line in response to lack of 
food. 

2. Turning the body axis sidewise in response to an ob- 
stacle. 

3. Positive localization in its two forms. 

4. Negative localization. 

5. Grasping. 

6. Adjustment of the sense organs. 

7. Signaling, ♦ 

8. vSleeping. 

For example, "hunting" is sometimes mentioned as a 
human instinct. It seems that this form of behavior is a 
habit based essentially upon (1) and (2). "Tramping" is 
about the same. If one wants to distinguish between hunt- 
ing and tramping, one may say that to the former (3) and 



SO-CALLED INSTINCTS 211 

(5) also contribute strongly, for the hunter likes to follow 
the game (if he sees any) and to bring some home. 

Further, ''acquisition" or ''hoarding" seems to be a habit 
based on (3) and (5). "Manipulation" or "construction" 
seems to be about the same habit. A child, let us say, picks 
up one of a number of wooden blocks lying about in his 
room. He receives the visual stimulation of a similar block, 
and since the nervous path is still favored by the reduction 
of the resistance due to the previous stimulation, reacts in 
the same way, walks towards it and puts on it his hand in 
which he still has the first block. Since now he cannot 
pick up the second block, he opens and raises his hand and, 
there, has before him a structure, one block upon another. 
Since this double block is a more striking stimulus than any 
of the single ones, it is quite natural that he returns to it, 
after having picked up one more of the blocks lying about. 
Is not all the so-called constructive activity simply a more 
or less complicated habit of the same kind as this very 
simple example? This habit of gathering and piling up 
must develop from the reflexes and habits which we have 
studied thus far, provided the child is surrounded by things 
which are sufficiently similar so that two or more of them 
together make a similar, but more intensive sensory im- 
pression than a single one ; and what child does not live 
under such surroundings ? It is hardly necessary, then, 
to assume a mysterious particular instinct of constructive- 
ness. That the habit of taking to pieces, derived from the 
reflex of grasping, becomes united with this habit of putting 
together is plain enough, for taking apart brings about ever 
new opportunities for putting together. It is unfortunately 
true that taking to pieces is not inevitably followed by put- 
ting together. Nevertheless "destructiveness" is no more 
a human "instinct" than "constructiveness." 

"Fear," running away, is a habit based on (4), negative 
localization. The peculiar attitude of a person in bodily 



212 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHEK-ONE 

pain seems to belong to the same form of behavior. He 
shrinks away from the objects of pain. He curls up or 
writhes, bends and twists all his Hmbs. 

^'Attention'' is sometimes called an instinct. What is re- 
ferred to is obviously habits based chiefly on (6), to some 
extent also on (3). 

''Sociality" is sometimes called an instinct. It refers to 
those habits which are based on (7). The response to the 
signal brings about social relations. 

The so-called instinct of ''idleness'' is based on (8). A 
person who acts habitually "sleepy'' when we expect him to 
expose his sense organs to all or to certain stimuli, is an 
idler. 

In connection with "instincts" it has become the custom 
among psychologists to speak of "emotions." From the 
social point of view emotions are most curious phenomena. 
But if we analyse them psychologically, we find that they 
are nothing but "w^asted" reflexes. For example, if a per- 
son shows most or virtually all the symptoms of "sleep," 
that is, reacts with the sleeping reflexes above discussed, 
but during the day and under conditions where such reac- 
tion serves no purpose, naive observers may be excused for 
saying that he experiences sorrow and anguish and thinking 
that his very soul has been stirred up. But to the scientific 
observer this sorrow and anguish is merely a wasted sleep- 
ing reflex. The situation calling forth the reflex action is 
one of disappointment. And the reflex action means re- 
tiring to a state of more or less prolonged inactivity. 

We can at once derive the symptoms and comprehend the 
biological value of his reaction if we recall that in animal 
life and in the life of primitive man the most ordinary kind 
of disappointment consists in the want of food. Imagine a 
winter month : every article which might serve as food 
covered by snow and impossible to find, for weeks or longer. 



SO-CALLED EMOTIOIsrS 213. 

until the weather changes. An animal which, under these 
circumstances, would continue to run about for food, would 
soon fall dead from exhaustion. However adverse the 
situation, the body can survive living on the substances 
stored away in its own tissues, if it only consumes this lim- 
ited supply economically. For this the first requirement is 
that all muscular activity be reduced to a minimum. 

Thus we understand why the nervous system, in a dis- 
appointing situation, tends to leave the skeletal muscles in 
a state of relaxation. A person in great sorrow is so far 
from being master of his skeletal muscles that he drops as 
if he were completely paralyzed, like Romeo in Friar Laur- 
ence's cell : 

''Wert thou as young as I, Juliet thy love, 

An hour but married, Tybalt murdered. 

Doting like me, and Hke me banished. 

Then mightst thou speak, then mightst thou tear thy 
hair, 

And fall upon the ground, as I do now. 

Taking the measure of an unmade grave.'' 

A disappointed person looks like the face on the left side 
of our double diagram of facial expressions. The relaxa- 
tion of the facial muscles causes the angles of the mouth to 
be pulled down by the weight of the lower jaw. But why 
should such a face look pale ? 

Recall the animal just spoken of, disappointed in its food 
supply. If it does not exercise its muscles, little or no heat 
is produced, for the skeletal muscles are, physiologically, 
the very furnaces of the body. If little heat is produced, 
the loss of heat must be safeguarded against. Thus the 
biological value of the contraction of the muscles in the 
walls of the blood vessels becomes evident. The contraction 
of the vessels prevents the blood from circulating much in 
the periphery of the body where cooling mainly takes place. 



214 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-OKE 

The cooling by the conduction of heat through the tissues 
covering the body is Httle to be feared as long as the warm 
blood is kept in the inner parts of the body and prevented 
from circulating through the periphery. The actual cool- 
ing of the skin, exciting the sensory points of the skin, 
causes the reflex and habitual response of the animal's seek- 





FACIAL EXPRESSION IX SORROW AND 
IX JOY OR AXGER. 

ing shelter, again reducing the loss of h-eat, of physiological 
energy. Thus contraction of the blood vessels of the skin 
keeps the animal alive until a change of the external con- 
ditions enables it to resume its ordinary manner of life. 

The winter sleep of animals might, in a sense, be called 
a prolonged emotion of sorrow. But in this case the sleep- 
ing reflexes are not wasted. In the case of Romeo they 
are wasted. 

Many psychologists attempt to place each class of 
"emotions'' parallel with one particular class of "instincts." 
The sleeping reflexes would then become the basis both of 
the habit or "instinct" of acting sleepy or lazy and, when 
wasted, of the "emotion" of sorrow. 

The reflexes (3) and (5), which result in the habits or 
so-called instincts of acquisition, hoarding, manipulation, 
might then well be said to be, when wasted, the bases of the 
emotions of joy and of anger. That the angry person 
manipulates things too much and very waste fully, is suf- 
ficiently known. And the joyful person "localizes," picks 
out, not this or that thing, but the whole world, in order 



PLAYING 215 

to "grasp," to embrace it, — but ordinarily to no good pur- 
pose. The strong (primitive) activity of grasping, or try- 
ing to grasp, with the jaws (having teeth for that end) 
gives the face the feature shown on the right side of our 
double diagram of facial expressions. We see this ''grin- 
ning" both in what we call joy and what we call anger. 

The horse, standing on a railway track, which runs away 
from an approaching train, is not said to display an emotion. 
It demonstrates its negative localizing reflexes (4). But 
if it wastes these reflexes by running away from a news- 
paper flying in the wind, we speak of it as having an 
emotion. 

Sometimes we speak of ''play" rather than of emotions, 
when an animal exercises its reflexes to no directly useful 
end. We speak of play especially in the case of young an- 
imals and of children, where wasted reflexes are naturally 
more frequently seen than in the case of adults. Even 
when directly wasted, the exercise of the reflexes may be 
indirectly helpful. It has often been pointed out by psy- 
chologists — and quite rightly, it seems — that thru play the 
young acquire useful habits before dire necessity demands 
their acquisition. 

When the Other-One's play becomes connected with 
Art, or when he plays with a work of Art or even with a 
product of Nature like a beautiful landscape chiefly by ad- 
justing his sense organs to it, we say that he has an ''es- 
thetic" emotion. He calls those things beautiful which he 
discovers to be particularly suitable for this play of adjust- 
ing his sense organs. And by Art he means the production 
of such things. As a matter of course with advancing age, 
experience and training the esthetic emotions become in- 
finitely varied by becoming interwoven with the Other- 
One's innumerable habits. 



CHAPTER IX 

Spaci^ Perception on the Skin : A Species of Condensa- 
tion o^ THE Nervous Functioning. 

We mean by a spatial perception any muscular reaction 
which can be regarded as based on the positive localizing 
reflexes in such a manner that for two — or any larger num- 
ber of — localizing reactions which remain unexecuted an 
entirely different muscular reaction, serving any end what- 
soever, is substituted. 

The equipment which Nature has given the Other-One 
in order to make localizing movements possible has already 
been discussed and is very simple. It consists of a large 
number of nervous conductors, reflex paths, each starting 
at a particular sensory point and ending in that set of muscle 
fibers (schematically speaking, that motor point) the con- 
traction of which will bring a movable part of the body, 
most commonly the tip of the index finger of the right 
hand, into the neighborhood of the sensory point in ques- 
tion. We say advisedly ''neighborhood.'' The Other- 
One's muscular apparatus works, of course, with a certain 
inaccuracy. This would show itself clearly if the Other- 
One would localize, ''try to touch," the same sensory point 
a large number of times, perhaps a hundred times, and 
leave a mark on it with an inked point of the finger tip 
after the performance of each localizing movement. 

Suppose the sensory point to be touched is selected on 
the upper arm about midway between the shoulder and the 
elbow. Suppose we consider the distribution of the marks 
just mentioned only in the direction lengthwise on the arm, 
and disregard completely whether the marks distribute them- 
selves crosswise in any manner or not. In the distribu- 

(216) 



CUTAli^EOUS THKESHOLD 



217 



tion lengthwise we should mark, following the general 
scientific custom, the two points, one lying toward the 
shoulder, the other toward the elbow from the sensory 
point, between which we should find one half of the marks 
of all the locaHzing movements, that is, fifty of the hun- 
dred. Imagine, in order to have something definite to 
speak of, that the distance between these two points hap- 
pens to be just an inch as in our figure between the vertical 



I I 



I I IM I M I I lilil 

s 



1 1 1 M HMiiiiiiiiiiiiiMniiiiiniinimt It 1 1 1 



ini 1 1 1 I I I ixi I I I I I I I 



MAIJKS OF THEi LOCALIZING REFLEX. 

lines. Now imagine, further, that you are assistant to the 
Creator of the world and that the task has been assigned to 
you of placing in the skin of the arm, from shoulder to elbow, 
a sufficient number of sensory points. How close together 
would you place them? (Now suppose that your standard 
of efficiency happens to be "half and half" in the sense 
which will be apparent at once.) You would obviously not 
waste them by putting them closer together than an inch. 

Due to the inaccuracy of the execution of the movement, 
one half of the marks, we supposed, fell farther than half 
an inch above or below the sensory point. If you place the 
sensory points one inch apart, half of the marks will fall 
closer to the sensory point touched than the sensory points 
untouched, whose localization by a movement is not de- 
manded by any present need. If you place the sensory 
points closer together, fewer and fewer than one half can 
be said to have fallen closer to the sensory point touched 
than to the sensory points untouched. 

It would obviously be a waste of biological building ma- 
terial to possess sensory points which, altho untouched, col- 
lect in their neighborhood more than one half (or more than 



218 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHEE-ONE 

any other definite fraction which represents your standard 
of biological efficiency in your creation) of the marks which 
were intended for a dififerent point as a target, this target 
receiving then in its neighborhood only a certain minority 
of the marks. 

We have here one of the reasons why creative Nature 
should place a rather limited number of sensory points in 
the skin, why Nature should establish what is technically 
called a threshold of sensibility, and a rather large thresh- 
old. 

Of course, we do not assert that Nature may not, for 
this or that other reason, distribute the sensory points less 
closely or more closely together than corresponds to the 
muscular accuracy. It may, for example, be quite sufficient 
for an animal's need of protection, if the sensory points are 
farther apart, because the animal's paw or the human hand, 
in making a localizing movement, is capable of touching — - 
covering — a broad area. 

By the way, in this discussion we have intentionally not 
concerned ourselves with the fact that what we schematically 
call a sensory point is not a geometrical point, but an area 
of some size served by numerous branches of the same 
neuron fiber in question. Taking up the study of these 
details of the finer anatomy of the skin would be likely to 
carry our interest from psychology into physiology. 

An experiment wnll make the further discussion more 
concrete. We ask the Other-One to close his eyes. Then 
we touch him, after a ''ready" signal, lightly, but with suf- 
ficient firmness and long enough, one to two seconds, with 
two compass points. He answers our question, whether 
we touched him with one point or with two. We repeat the 
experiment with a dififerent distance. If we choose to 
make the distance increase, or decrease, with regularity, 
we must touch him now and then with only one point in 



SPATIAL DTSCIllMINATIO:tT 219 

order to test his sincerity. If he answers "two'' in such a 
case, we tell him that we have no use for him as a subject 
of experimentation. 

Finally we make an array of our data, with distances 
regularly changing and the Other-One's answer to each 
distance added. We then notice at one end of the array only 
judgments of ''one," at the other end only judgments of 
''two," and in the middle both judgments mixed. The dis- 
tance standing in the center of this "mixed" region we call 
the threshold. 

The experiment is made lengthwise on the arm, and it is 
also, separately, made crosswise on the arm. The most in- 
teresting result is that the threshold lengthwise is greater 
than the threshold crosswise. One reason for this will be, 
pointed out later. 

Let us now consider the relation between the experiment 
on discrimination as just described and the localizing reflex. 
At the first glance it may seem that (1) localizing a point 
stimulated and (2) calling out either "one" or "two" ac- 
cording as two nearer or farther points have been stim- 
ulated, are two forms of human behavior which have nothing 
in common. But that is not so. They are very closely 
related functions. The latter form of behavior is a modifi- 
cation of the former, a habit based on the localizing reflex. 

It will make it much easier for us to understand this, 
if we firvSt recall what reaction is most commonly, in the 
Other-One's life, substituted for any single one of his re- 
flex actions. The most common substitution is that of 
"naming." A human adult whose shoulder is irritated, in 
innumerable instances, for example in the presence of his 
physician, pronounces the word "shoulder" instead of 
moving his finger to the shoulder. If his elbow is stim- 
ulated, he pronounces the word "elbow." This is one of 
the most common habits in human life, reacting by a word 



220 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

instead of reacting by a directly useful muscular activity. 
The naming reaction is indirectly useful, chiefly thru its 
social consequences, since the word in turn is likely to 
bring about in another individual, or in many other in- 
dividuals, that directly useful reaction which the person 
stimulated did not perform. When the Other-One says 
''shoulder,'*' his physician will probably put his finger on 
the Other-One's shoulder. 

Now imagine, first, that the following happens. The 
Other-One is touched on his shoulder ; but peculiar neuro- 
muscular complications delay the reaction. His shoulder 
is touched again; .and now both of these stimuli are re- 
sponded to by a single reaction, perhaps that of pronouncing 
the word ''same." Same in the sense that the muscular 
reactions were the same. No one will deny that this is 
possible, that an animal body, instead of reacting separately 
to each of two successive stimuli, reacts to both of them in a 
new way with a single movement, of course not in this case 
reflexly, but in consequence of habit formation. Secondly, 
imagine that the Other-One's shoulder is touched first ; but 
special conditions again delay the reaction. His elbow is 
now touched ; and both these stimuli are then responded to 
by a single reaction, perhaps that of pronouncing the word 
"different." Different in the sense that the muscular reac- 
tions were different, as they naturally must have been. 

It is clear that the pronounciation of such a word as 
"same" or "one" in the former case and of such a w^ord as 
"different" or "two" in the latter case is nothing but a 
peculiar kind of habit, consisting in a single reaction occur- 
ring as the effect of two (in our case successive, but not 
necessarily always successive) stimuli, this single reaction 
taking the place of the two localizing reflex reactions which 
originally belonged to, were casually connected with, the 
two stimuli. . . 



SPATIAL, DISCRIMINATION 221 

What we have just done, has been nothing but a logical 
analysis and clear statement of what is meant by that form 
of behavior which we customarily call ''discrimination" of 
two points. Let us now return to the result of our ex- 
periment concerning the comparative threshold lengthwise 
and crosswise on the arm. We found that the threshold 
w^as considerably larger lengthwise than crosswise. Why 
has Nature placed the sensory points closer together in the 
direction crosswise, thus increasing in this direction the 
number of distinct reflex actions possible and also, then, 
the number of substituted word reactions ''different" or 
"two"? The reference to a limit of muscular accuracy in 
localizing the spot obviously is no answer here. We can 
give an answer to this question which is. applicable, not only 
to the arm, but to the whole body surface. 

The sensory points are the closer, the greater the curva- 
ture of the surface region in question, the farther apart, 
the less the curvature. It goes without saying that the 
curvature crosswise on the arm is much greater than length- 
wise. We then have before us the same question in dif- 
ferent terms. Why does Nature increase the number of 
sensory points whenever the curvature increases? 

This question can be answered when w^e remember that 
the purpose of the existence of sensory points on the body 
surface is a localizing reaction, but that the' end of the 
localizing limb is not a sharp point. A finger tip, and more 
so a flat hand, is capable of covering a considerable area, 
say, of the arm, in the localizing reaction. But this covered 
area has a considerable extent only lengthwise, that is, 
where the curvature is small. Even a great inaccuracy of 
the localization lengthwise will still result in the stimulated 
part being covered by the flat hand, as when we swat a 
mosquito sitting on our arm. Not so crosswise. If the 
mosquito moves only half an inch or so in the direction 



222 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

crosswise, the striking hand will not kill it. To kill the 
mosquito in the changed position, a very different combina- 
tion of contracting muscles is required, and the excitation 
must be carried over distinctly different conductors. It is 
immediately clear, then, that an animal needs to have its 
sensory points on the body surface much closer together 
as the curvature increases. 

It may be wise to add to the last statement, that this does 
not imply that the number of sensory points should be ex- 
pected to be strictly proportional to the curvature as defined 
in mathematical terms. An assertion of strict proportion- 
ahty would lead to the absurd consequence of the sensory 
points being an infinite distance apart where the body sur- 
face has no curvature, is flat, not to speak of the still more 
absurd consequence of the distance between the sensory 
points being negative where the surface is concave, as in 
the palm of the hand. 

For reasons w^hich are apparent in a discussion of space 
perception, it is advisable to raise the question as to how 
many dimensions are involved in the description of the 
mutual relations of those stimuli which call forth this form 
of behavior, the localizing reaction on the skin. The an- 
swer to this question is that the stimuli may all be described 
as belonging to a two-dimensional space. The objection 
that the skin, in which the stimulated sensory points are 
located, obviously fills the three dimensions of common 
sense space, is not a real objection. 

Of course, nobody making this objection would mean by 
it that the skin has thickness and in this respect has three 
dimensions. The stimuli in question are not applied to a 
varying depth in the skin. The objection could have a 
meaning only in the sense that the skin surrounding the 
Other-One's body is not flat. It could not surround the 
body if it were flat. But two-dimensionality and flatness 



CUTAT^EOUS SPACE PERCEPTION 223 

are not the same, mathematically. We can make this clear 
even in purely biological terms, leaving all abstract mathe- 
matics aside. Im_agine you could skin the Other-One in 
such a way that all the nervous conductors having endings 
in the skin would remain intact. Think of the nerve fibers 
as being stretchable, like rubber threads. Imagine that you 
had spread out his skin on the flat floor like a' fur rug, 
without in the least interfering with any of the normal 
nervous connections between the points of his skin and the 
Other-One's muscles. It then becomes clear at once that 
the skin is functionally a two-dimensional structure. You 
could distribute the stimuli over the (now flat) skin lying 
on the floor in exactly the same two-dimensional relations 
as before (when the skin surrounded the body) and call 
forth in the Other-One exactly the same muscular re- 
sponses. That the skin is curved over the body, obviously 
does not change its functional two-dimensionality. 

We therefore say that the space perception on the skin 
is a perception of only two-dimensional space. But the 
only example we have hitherto given of this space percep- 
tion has been the rather simple case of the discrimination 
of two points. Let us now turn to cases of space percep- 
tion which are a little more complex, and see whether they 
too can be reduced to habits based on the localizing reflex. 

Imagine the following case. The Other-One, in the 
dark, is trying to find a pen point which he knows is lying 
among other things on the table in his room. He puts his 
hands on the table. A number of sensory points forming 
an oval spot on the skin are stimulated by contact on 
his right hand. A number of sensory points along one 
line are stimulated on his left hand. He ought to pick up 
that thing which is lying under the latter. It is the pen 
point wanted. What is lying under the right hand is a 
medal. Of course, instead of using both hands, the Other- 



224 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHEE-ONE 



One may put the same hand, first on the one thing, then 
on the other. 

We are deahng here with the problem of the perception 
of spatial form reduced to simple terms. We might give 
names to the sensory points and call them for the pen point 
a-c-e-g-i (they are, of course, in reality much more nu- 




1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 

f S h i k I m n 



SPACE PERCEPTIOX AS A XERVOFS FUNCTION. 

merous than five), for the medal b-e-g-1-o. We notice that 
some, but not all, which are found in the one group, are 
also found in the other. We may imagine that the reac- 
tion, say, the bending or the stretching of the arm in all its 
joints, is anatomically very simple, that it involves the 
contraction of only a single muscle, the passing out of the 
nervous current at a single motor point. The nervous func- 




SPACE PERCEPTION THE REVERSE 
OF MOTOR CONCERTEDNESS. 



tion is then exactly the opposite of what we have called on 
the motor side concerted action, which we have discussed in 
a previous chapter. Motor concertedness is characterized 



CUTAN^EOTJS SPACE PERCEPTION 225 

by an expansion of nervous function which one might rep- 
resent by a fan-shaped diagram Hke that on the left side of 
our figure, at A. In space perception, on the other hand, 
we let the ''soldiers,'' so to speak, who started out marching 
in open formation, arrive at their aim, M, in close forma- 
tion, as at B in the figure. Here they arrive as a single unit 
of motor function, in the other case. A, as five units of 
motor function. We have already called this, in contra- 
distinction to concertedness, condensation of the nervous 
functioning, or ''motor condensation" if we call concerted- 
ness "sensory condensation." 

Space perception then is a species of condensation of 
nervous functioning. Discrimination of two points on the 
skin is the very sirnplest example of space perception. An 
example of a more complex discrimination has just been 
given. Another example would be that of reacting dif- 
ferently to three, stimuli apphed to points forming a straight 
line and applied to three points marking a triangle. Or 
distinguishing — of course again by different muscular re- 
actions, most usually the names pronounced — one kind of 
triangle from another kind. Or one triangle from another 
one which is merely larger. 

It is clear that in thus distinguishing different sizes and 
different forms, some of the group of sensory points call- 
ing for the one reaction may be identical with some of the 
sensory points of the group calling for the other reaction. 
In our figure "space perception as a nervous function" 
this is expressed by the fact that the points e and g are 
found in both the groups a-c-e-g-i and b-e-g-1-o. 

How such habits of space perception may be formed on 
the basis of the localizing reflexes, we have illustrated by 
the example of the discrimination of two points on the 
skin. But we must not think that all space perception, all 
such condensation of the nervous functioning, results mere- 



226 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-OI^E 

ly from habit formation. There is very definite evidence, 
especially in the reflex reactions to reflex "signaling/' that 
certain kinds of space perception are inherited. But since 
the plainest examples are found in visual space perception, 
we shall give them on a later occasion in the next chapter 
rather than here where we are discussing cutaneous space 
perception. 

Space perception is an especially fertile field for the cul- 
ture and observation of so-called illusions. Any wasted 
reflex or habit may be called an illusion (just as it may be 
called an emotion). The crowing of a rooster (a signaling 
reflex) may be called an illusion of the rooster when there 
is nobody to hear the sound. Striking a table with a fist 
when nobody is present to be caused to run away or shrink 
from the person who does it, may be called an illusion. 
Swallowing a pill, when it is only a sugar-coated pea, may 
be called an illusion. In the last mentioned case, the action 
is applied to something, but is nevertheless wasted because 
it is misapplied. 

It is not difficult to see why the probability of an action 
being misapplied is especially great in nervous functions 
which are of the nature of a condensation of the totality of 
the nervous currents. If the currents coming from b, e, g, 
1, and o all concentrate toward the motor point Mq in our 
figure and four of them (one of the five happening to be 
absent, we speak of the other four) concentrate ordinarily 
toward some diflferent motor point Mx, it is only to be ex- 
pected that the mere weakening or total failure of that 
one of the five currents should once in a while be insuf- 
ficient to keep the other four from concentrating just the 
same toward the motor point Mq. The following is a con- 
crete example. 

Perhaps the most famous illusion in cutaneous space per- 
ception is that which goes under the name of ''Aristotle's 



l-LLUSIOKS 227 

illusion/' which indicates how long it has been known. 
Place the Other-One's hand palm upwards on the table 
and cross his ring finger over the middle finger. The tip 
of the ring finger then lies next to the index finger and the 
tip of the middle finger next to the little finger. Of course, 
before doing any of these things you have already blind- 
folded him. Now touch gently the tips of the crossed fin- 
gers with a single object, for example a bean or a round 
pencil. The Other-One will then probably tell you that 
he was touched by two things. 

The explanation is simple enough. When the tip of the 
ring finger is stimulated on the side which ordinarily lies 
next to the little finger and also the tip of the middle finger 
is stimulated on the side which lies ordinarily next to the 
index finger, the Other-One ordinarily must execute two 
separate localizing-grasping movements before he has 
''picked" all the stimulating objects. He has learned to 
substitute the word ''two" if he substitutes a naming reac- 
tion for these reflex movements of "picking." It is true, 
the nervous function includes in such a case also the excita- 
tion of the kinesthetic sense organs in the muscles which 
hold the fingers parallel. 

Now, in the experiment in which the subject is blind- 
folded, this kinesthetic excitation is not the proper one. 
The proper one is not there (there is something else in its 
stead). But, as we already said, the absence of one ner- 
vous current among several in the case of nervous condensa- 
tion does not always keep the others from concentrating in 
the same motor point. If they do concentrate in the same 
motor point (and as a matter of fact and ancient expe- 
rience, far back to Aristotle, they frequently do), the Other- 
One tells us "two." Of course, his reaction is not always 
and by absolute necessity saying "two;" but frequently, 
perhaps in a majority of the cases, he does say "two." 



228 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-OiSTE. 

It i^ an illusion because the response is misapplied. The 
Other-One will quickly admit that the response "two" was 
misapplied, was ''wasted/' when we uncover his eyes. We 
ask him to pick up and give us the two beans. But after 
having picked up one, he finds no second bean to pick up. 



CHAPTER X 

Naturi: Enables thk Other-One to Perceive Space: 

AT A Distance. 

The eye must be regarded as a group of sensory points 
of the skin whose sensitivity has been changed so that they 
can be stimulated, no longer by pressure very easily, but by 
certain ether waves, by light, even when this light is only 
very weak. In our chapter on reflexes we referred to the 
fact that the sensory points of the Other-One's retina have 
been equipped by Nature with definite reflexes. When the 
lower region of his- retina is stimulated, his arm moves up ; 
and so forth. We called these reflexes positive localization 
in the outward direction. From them is derived, by con- 
densation of the nervous functioning, space perception at a 
distance, just as space perception on the skin is derived 
from the localizing reflexes of the skin. 

Let us mention a concrete example from the Other-One's 
life. One evening, long after sunset, we find him walking 
in the wilderness trying to discover a resting place for the 
night, a human habitation. On his right there is a hill; on 
his left another. Over the latter appears a bright spot 
which is round. Over the former there is a bright 
spot which is rectangular. He ought to turn to the right 
where he will approach an illuminated window, Over the 
hill to the left there is something he could never hope to 
approach, the moon. 

Obviously, the case is in all essentials the same as that, 
discussed in the last chapter, of discriminating by distinct 
reactions a pen and a medal, both touching the skin. In 

(229) 



230' PSYCHO'LOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

stead of the localizing reflexes serving the skin, we find 
here those serving the retina. And just as there, so we 
find here a substituted motor function. For several, a 
definite group of, localizing reflexes a single habit is sub- 
stituted, the habit of approaching the illuminated rectangle, 
and of leaving behind one's back the luminous disk. With 
the localizing reflexes of the retina we are already ac- 
quainted. In discussing the localizing reflexes we spoke of 
the fact that the eye ball functions like a pin hole camera 
(it actually is a lens camera) and that the establishment 
of reflex paths here is as simple a problem for the archi- 
tect of the nervous system as it is in localization on the 
skin. 

In the preceding chapter we called attention to the fact 
that those condensations of the nervous functioning which 
we call space perceptions are not entirely the result of 
habit formation, that certain space perceptions are pro- 
vided by the inheritance of nerve centers higher than those 
which serve the simple localizing reflexes. We promised 
to give an example of inherited visual space perception. 
We can now give it. This example has already been men- 
tioned in a previous chapter, but there for a different pur- 
pose. We discussed the fact that animals as well as in- 
fants possess by inheritance reflexes of reacting to signals 
of form which are given out by other animals (or animal- 
like things, as we shall see). We illustrated the discus- 
sion with a simple figure being a sketch of the main fea- 
tures of a stufifed puppet. 

These features are a circular or oval border line and 
within it a triangle (a ''snout") below, and two smaller 
circles ("eyes") above. The fact that young and entirely 
inexperienced babies react to such a form with the nega- 
tive localizing reflexes, in ordinary life called ''fear/' shows 



i:n^heeited and other neevous condensations 231 

beyond doubt that they possess this condensation of nerv- 
ous functioning, "spatial perception." Instead of several 
(a large possible number of) positive locaHzing reflex ac- 
tions, one substitute action occurs, which happens to be in 
this instance a negative localizing reflex. 

How the habit formation and the functioning of estab- 
lished habits in visual space perception are influenced by 
the geometrical relations between the sensory points on the 
retina, becomes evident in a study of the geometric-opti- 
cal illusions. We shall presently give a number of especial- 
ly striking and typical examples of such illusions. Let us 
remember that such illusions are ''wasted'' reactions. And 
let us keep in mind in the following discussions that until 
the contrary is especially stated, we shall concern ourselves 
with the two-dimensional visual space perceptions, that is, 
those where the location of the sources of the emanating 
stimuli is completely described by reference to the so- 
called ''field of vision." For the present we leave "depth" 
out of consideration. 

The geometric-optical illusions furnish striking illustra- 
tions of the fact that space perception is a species of con- 
densation of the nervous function. By various factors we 
can guide the special direction which the condensation takes 
in the nervous system. Thus we can vary the reaction in 
the most astonishing, often seemingly contradictory, illogi- 
cal, wasteful manner, without essentially changing the form 
of the object, that is, without essentially changing the partic- 
ular sensory points stimulated. 

Let us ask the Other-One which two of the upper three 
lines, a, b, and c, in our figure are the continuations of the 
lower two lines, d and e. Maybe the Other-One will re- 
fuse to answer our question and rather say that none are 
continuations, that d and e pass thru the vacant spaces be- 



232 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE, OTHER-ONE 

tween a, b, and c, as they actually do. But if he answers 
it as it is put, he will certainly not say.b and c. He will 
say a andb. Why? — Some psychologists have held the 
vertical lines responsible for this choice. They have said 
that the illusion is due to the overestimation of the acute 
angles formed by the lines of the figure. 

It is perfectly true that there is a tendency to overesti- 
mate acute angles and underestimate obtuse angles. And 
the reason for it is clear. Look in one of the corners of 
your room at the angles you see there. They are three 
obtuse angles. But you know that in reality they are three 
right angles. Right angles are exceedingly common in 
architecture and furniture. They are common enough also 
in trees, since these generally stand vertical on the ground. 
A log or trunk of a fallen tree lying at the foot of a living 
one and forming a right angle is nothing rare. So every- 
body is very familiar with the fact that angles which are 
apparently acute are in reality often larger than they seem. 
These experiences may have some influence on the esti- 
mated size of acute, and in the opposite manner of obtuse, 
angles. 

But that this influence must be small and cannot be the 
deciding factor in the Other-One's illusion just mentioned, 
becomes clear when we make him look at the middle of 
our figure. Which two of the upper lines, f, g, and h, are 
the continuations of the lower two lines, i and k? The illu- 
sion is just as strong altho there are no vertical lines nor 
angles. And let no one introduce ^'imaginary," merely sug- 
gested, lines as explaining the illusion. 

Imagination, when we speak of the Other-One, is only a 
synonym for his ''habits" of handling the things in question, 
for example, of drawing lines in a thing or design which 
is given to him without them. Now, that he may have and 



SIGNIFICANCE OF INTERVAL 



233 



use habits of drawing lines, we need not deny. And that 
these habits influence the acquisition or the function of 
other habits such as answering our question addressed to 








>s'ERVOUS CONDENSATION DEPENDING ON DISTANCE OP POINTS 

STIMULATED. 

him, we need not deny. But, if we can find a more directly 
acting cause for his manner of answering our question, 
this direct cause will interest us much more than those in- 
direct, contributing, causes. 

We need not introduce any new principle of explanation. 
We merely remember what we have asserted about space 
perception in general. Two lines are called by the Other- 
One a single line under certain conditions, just as two 
points are called one point under certain conditions. Two 
points and two lines are the more easily regarded as one, 
that is, as each other's continuations, the more the nervous 
currents coming from the points stimulated — other condi- 
tions being equal — unite to act as one current. We can 
also express this thus : the more completely the total nerv- 
ous function is condensed into one motor point. 

Where the distance between two stimulated points is far 
less than the threshold, the fulfilment of the condition just 
mentioned is obvious. It is then due solely. to our natural 



234 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

equipment. Where the distance between two stimulated 
points is considerably greater than the threshold and never- 
theless the response demonstrates that there has been con- 
densation of the nervous functioning, the condensation, on 
the other hand, is a habit. Such a habit must be formed 
quite naturally whenever the successful localizing reflex 
''number V makes the success of the localizing reflex ''num- 
ber 2'' impossible, — for example, if, after "grasping" one 
of the lines or sticks (whatever they may actually be), the 
Other-One finds no second line or stick any more to grasp. 

This habit, once formed, altho it is a habit of reacting 
to stimulations farther apart than the threshold, cannot 
in its functioning be entirely independent of the distance 
being very large or only moderately (tho always above the 
threshold) large. Surely, when the distance of the points 
stimulated is larger, the condensation must be less liable to 
occur ; and when the distance is less large, the condensa- 
tion must be more likely to occur. Where instead of points 
we have lines, the distance just referred to as being greater 
or less must be the distance between the end points marking 
the break, the discontinuity. Other conditions (which might 
also be determinants of the condensation) being equal, we 
must accept the rule that, the less the distance, the greater 
the probability of condensation of the nervous functioning. 
Or, is it not true that in our actual and practical experi- 
ence, whenever the middle part of what seems a crooked 
stick is invisible, the stick is the more frequently found to 
be a single crooked stick, and the less frequently found to 
be two separate straight pieces, the closer together lie the 
ends of the two visible straight pieces ? 

This rule applied to our illusion diagram explains the 
Other-One's — at first surprising — answer quite readily. It 
is true that the "nervous current i'' (one will understand 



SIGKIFICAITCE OF INTERVAL 235 

what is meant by this abbreviated phrase) may, on abstract 
logical grounds, no more easily unite with ''the current f " 
and pass with it into a unitary, motor outlet than with the 
''nervous current g/' This is certainly true so far as the 
mere direction and position of the stimulating lines are 
concerned. The lines are parallel and a definite distance 
apart. Why not call them twoP^But from the nearest 
end of the line i to the nearest end of the line g is a much 
greater distance than to the nearest end of the line f . 

Thus it goes almost without saying that condensation 
occurs much more easily with reference to the nearer neigh- 
bors i and f ; and that the Other-One will more frequently 
call i and f together "one straight line with an accidental 
break in the middle'' than i and g together. 

For further demonstration of the much greater impor- 
tance of closeness than of any other factor contributing 
toward condensation of the nervous functioning let us look 
at the right side of the last figure. Which two of the three 
upper lines, 1, m, and n, are the continuations of the lower 
lines, o and p? There is no preference here, no illusion. 
It makes no difference whether we draw vertical lines thru 
the endpoints or not. Even when we have i^rawn them and 
the angles are quite clearly seen, so that the Other-One is 
in no manner kept from overestimating the acute ones, he 
does not "waste'' his reaction. The distances are here the 
same between the end point of o and the end points of 1 
and m; the same between the end point of p and the end 
points of m and n. It is therefore not to be expected that 
either the pair 1 and m should be preferred to the pair m and 
n or the latter pair to the former, when the question is 
raised how the lines o and p are to be continued upwards. 
That is, there is no cause for any illusion. 



236 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

If on the contrary the angles were powerful factors, the 
Other-One should have an illusion in spite of the equality 
of the breaks. Since he scarcely has any illusion, it is clear 
that his habitual overestimation of acute angles is not the 
chief cause of this illusion here. The cause of the illusion 
is much more fundamental, much more elementary. As 
we have seen, it consists in the simple fact that sensory 
points on the retina (and the same rule holds for the skin) 
which are closer together are more likely to be function- 
ally joined by what we have called condensation than sen- 
sory points which are farther apart. 

Another important fact must be mentioned here. Psy- 
chologists have often relied too much on mere logic. If 
for two reactions (localizing reflexes) a single new reac- 
tion (saying ''one'') is ''substituted,'' then the single re- 
actions are "excluded." So logic rules. But the facts are 
otherwise. 

Most striking is this event in the discrimination of two 
points ; and there is no essential difference between dis- 
crimination on the skin and on the retina in this respect. 
The Other-One sometimes says : "I call it. one and am a 
little inclined to call it also two." (Of course, this happens 
only in the neighborhood of or somewhat below the thresh- 
old, unless the Other-One is a pure guesser and insincere 
subject.) It is impossible to interpret away the lack of 
logic of the statement. However, w^hat has formal logic 
to do with the case ? Near the threshold the condensa- 
tion is pronounced enough to bring forth the substituted re- 
action "one" and yet not enough pronounced so that cur- 
rents of considerable strength will not be able to get still 
to the reflex motor points of localizing each point separate- 
ly. Why should this not be so ? It is perfectly natural. 

In the following figure of incomplete circles there is a 
further illustration of the principle of nervous "condensa- 



SIGNIFICANCE OF INTERVAL 



237 



tion depending on distances/' At A the little vertical 
dash (small arc) on the right does not seem to belong to 
the circle. It seems to He too far to the right. With refer- 
ence to B we ask the Other-One the question: ''Which 
two of the three vertical dashes (small arcs) on the right 





111 




ANOTHER EXAMPLE: DEMONSTRATING NERVOUS CONDENSATION. 

belong to the two circles ?" — He tells us : ''The two left 
ones.'' Why does he not tell us "The two right ones?" The 
circles have intermediate positions relative to the locations 
of the circular continuations of the dashes. Therefore, 
logically one of these answers should be as probable as the 
other. Actually the second answer never occurs. The 
greater nearness between the end points at the break deter- 
mines the answer. The nervous currents of the two right 
dashes do not together with the nervous currents of the 
circles lead to the single motor response "one ring." The 
distance of the end points is (relatively) too great. 

At C the two large arcs are, in a geometrical sense, in- 
termediate between the three small arcs. No two of the 
arcs are parts of a single one of the concentric circles, of 
which there are actually five. But if you ask the Other- 
One which two of the three arcs on the right he would pre- 
fer to call the continuations of the two arcs on the left, 
he will choose the outer ones. He will not, as in the pre- 
ceding case, choose the inner ones. It is perfectly clear, 
why. The end points of the two outer arcs on the right 



238 . PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

in this case are closer to the end points of the left arcs; 
the end points of the two inner arcs on the right are farther 
from the end points of the left arcs. So the former nerv- 
ous currents enter more readily into a condensed func- 
tion ; the latter currents tend more to remain an expanded 
nervous function. 

There are, however, geometric-optical illusions (that is, 
we remember, ''wasted'' space perceptions) in which ap- 
pears clearly the overestimation of acute (and underesti- 
mation of obtuse) angles. This tendency to regard angles 
as more approaching in size a right angle than they actual- 
ly do, is illustrated very conspicuously as the main factor 




THE WRONG ESTIMATION; OF ANGLES (PEFJSPECTIVE) SEEMS TO 
CAUSE THE TROUBLE. 

of the illusion in the figure where two parallel slanting 
lines are the stimulus to which the Other-One responds 
by saying that they are curves tending to surround the 
upper and the lower centers of radiation. 

On the other hand, the principle of ''nervous condensa- 
tion depending on distances'' is again clearly brought out 
by the three slanting lines, which, because of the nature of 



AEEAS COMPETING WITH POINTS 



239 



the lines which mark their endings, the Other-One most 
probably will pronounce as of unequal length. It is a story 
like that told of the founder of Rome, who bought as a 
site for his city just enough land to permit him to spread 
out a cowhide. But he was careful to cut the hide into a 
very long and narrow strap before he spread it on the 
ground. In R the stimulated sensory points which mark 
the ends of the line spread out forming, so to speak, two 
triangles. The vertices of the triangles lose their signifi- 
cance in comparison with the inclosed areas. The nervous 
currents of these endpoints are quite likely, therefore, to 
fail to play in the condensation of the nervous function 
that role of relative importance which they ought to play 
in comparison with the triangle areas. Since the triangles 





IrlFFERENT FORMS OF NERVOUS CONDENSATION RESULT HERE IN 
SOME "WASTED" K'EAOTIONS. 



are relatively near each other, the response resulting from 
the condensation is accordingly that of calling the ends of 
the thing ''near'' or the whole thing ''short.'' 



240 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

In S, on the other hand, the nervous currents represent- 
ing the forks which spread out and inclose the triangle- 
shaped areas, when they play their undue role and enter 
strongly into the condensation of the nervous functioning, 
call forth a ''wasted" response of naming the thing "long." 

In T the end marks do not include such areas, which can 
either extend the figure or cramp its length especially. So 
the Other-One is likely to call S longer than T, and R 
shorter than T. 

The space perceptions (or illusions) hitherto discussed 
are essentially two-dimensional space perceptions. That is, 
no express reference is contained in them to distances from 
the eye varying with different objects or different objective 
points from which stimuli emanate. Such reference to the 
third dimension, depth, or distance from the Other-One 
may, however, be said to have been implied, tho not ex- 
pressed, when we spoke of the underestimation of the ob- 
tuse angles in the corner of a room and its ceihng. The 
Other-One there underestimates angles which are obtuse 
only because in reality their lines lie outside of the tw^o 
dimensions of the field of vision in which they apparently 
lie. 

Very numerous are those two-dimensional space percep- 
tions (themselves substitutes for localizing reflexes, as we 
saw) for which in turn a "depth" localizing habit function 
is expressly substituted. The substitution, that is, consists 
in extending a limb farther or less far into the depth. Such 
substituted habit functions fully deserve the name of per- 
ceptions of the third dimension. (But there are other per- 
ceptions of the third dimension, to be discussed later, which 
are not substitutes for two-dimensional space perceptions, 
but for other reactions.) Of the tw^o-dimensional space 
perceptions thus utilizable the following list contains those 



TWO DIMENSIONS AND THE THIKD 



241 



with which everybody is most famiHar. But there are many 
others. They are a most important subject of study for 
the artist in black and white and for the painter in colors. 





D C 


^ D □ 


^ 


n n — ~ 


d D 




^^i::- 




1 




- 


- 






— 


- 





g '-^m 




TWO-DIMENSIONAL SPACE PEKCEPTIONiS REPLACED 
IN THE THIRD DIMENSION. 



BY LOCALIZING 



1. 

2. 
3. 
(C). 
4. 

(F). 

■ 5. 

6. 



Relative size of similar forms (A). 

High or low position in the field of vision (B). 

Transposition or cutting of one picture by another 

Shadow above (D), below (E), or on another object 



Indistinctness or lack of details. 

Atmospheric perspective or change in coloring. 
The smaller of two houses, instead of being called smaller 
in the field of vision, may be called more distant. A house, 
instead of being described as standing higher in the field of 
vision, may be called more distant than another house which 
appears lower. An oak tree which cuts a house is 
called nearer than a fir tree which is cut by the house. A 
round place in the wall, dark above and illuminated below 



242 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE 0THER-0:N^E 

is called a depression — maybe one made by a cannon ball. 
If illuminated above and shaded below, it is called a pro- 
trusion — perhaps the cannon ball itself, fastened with mor- 
tar in the hole. The shadow of a tree on the ground, when 
the sun is beyond, gives to this patch of ground the name of 
''nearer/' Indistinctness, lack of .details on a person seen, 
is interpreted as greater distance in comparison with an- 
other person who shows more details. Mountains which 
appear bluish gray or lights which appear reddish (altho 
this feature is not form, but color, it may be mentioned in 
this connection) are called farther than mountains which 
appear greenish and lights which appear more whitish. 

It is no wonder that the substitutions (these substitu- 
tions which so often are far more valuable to the Other- 
One than the replaced reactions!), after having become 
firmly established functions, sometimes proceed in the other 
direction. The following illustrates this. The moon stimu- 
lates on the retina an area of virtually the same size no 
matter whether it is high or low above the horizon. The 
atmospheric influences, when the moon is low, afifect its 
color, but hardly the area stimulated on the retina. Why, 
then, does the Other-One call the moon larger, when he 
sees it low? 

Now, to the Other-One the Earth is essentially a flat 
disk covered by a crystalline bowl, the sky. The moon is 
a luminous spot on this bowl. The depth of this overhead 
bowl is less than half its diameter. A bright spot at the 
rim (the far off rim!) of this bowl, which stimulates on 
the retina an area no smaller than that stimulated by a 
bright spot at the bottom (the near bottom!) of the bowl, 
deserves therefore to be called a spot much larger than the 
latter. Thus the Other-One calls the moon larger when he 
sees it at the horizon, at the rim of the crystalline bowl. 



TWO DIMENSIONS AND THE THIRD 243 

Being reddish helps a Httle in this illusion, for a lantern 
being carried away and disappearing finally in the fog be- 
comes more reddish the farther it is carried. 

We can ask the Other-One to convince himself by an ex- 
periment of the cause for calling that bright spot larger 
when he sees it at the rim of the shallow crystalline bowl. 
We make him look steadily for several minutes at a small 
piece of bright-colored paper on the table before him. When 
now he looks aside, he tells us that he sees an after-image. 
But when we make him look aside, we make him look, not 
only on the table, but also on the distant wall of the room. 
He then tells us that he sees the after-image on the wall 
much larger than on the table. This experiment shows 
again, that not only is a judgment of distance (that is, the 
action of calHng a thing distant) often substituted for a 
judgment of size, but that also size may be 'substituted for 
distance by simply reversing the former substitution. 

All these substituted actions to which we have referred 
above under the common title of ''space perceptions of the 
third dimension'' are undoubtedly habits, acquired. There 
is no reason for assuming that mere heredity enables the 
Other-One to call a thing (not necessarily by speech, but 
say, by any suggestive action) nearer or farther as soon as 
he has once acquired the habit of calling it by one or the 
other name found in the above list of two-dimensional space 
perceptions. 

Not all visual space perceptions of the thiid dimension, 
however, are substitutions for space perceptions in the two 
dimensions of the field of vision. Some perceptions of the 
third dimension are substitutions for (or rather additions 
to) certain reflex movements which we have already more 
or l"ess discussed when we spoke of the reflexes of adjust- 
ing our sense organs. The reflex of exposing the fovea 



244 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHEE-ONE 

to stimulation and the reflex of accommodating the lens 
have such additional actions joined to them that they be- 
come habits of perception of depth. 

If the lens is first accommodated for a thing at one dis- 
tance and then for a thing at another distance, the action 
of calling one of these things nearer and the other farther 
can easily be added to the adjusting actions. What is 
added is a perception of depth, in accordance with the usu- 
al psychological terminology. We understand, of course, 
from all that has been said already, that the perception does 
not always consist in the pronunciation of a w^ord, a name. 
It may as well consist in stretching the arm farther or less 
far, throwing a stone with more or less force, and so forth. 
In this case of accommodation it is not necessary, natural- 
ly, for the Other-One to have two eyes in order to perceive 
depth. Accommodation occurs also in the one-eyed per- 
son. 

The reflex of exposing the fovea places the axes of the 
eyes so that they form the so-called angle of convergence. 
Instead of speaking of the ''adjusting reflex of the retina," 
one might therefore speak of the ''reflex of forming the 
angle of convergence." But, of course, the Other-One must 
have two eyes for this, since one line alone can not form 
an angle. He adds to the movement of forming this angle 
an appropriate reaction of the perception of depth. 

Nature undoubtedly could have equipped the Other-One 
by heredity with reflexes of "localizing in more or less 
depth," making these reflexes dependent on and quickly fol- 
lowing the adjusting reflexes of accommodation of the lens 
and of forming the angle of convergence. But there is no 
evidence that Nature did give the Other-One such equip- 
ment as a pure inheritance. These visual perceptions- of 
depth all seem to be habits. 



ADJUSTIISrG EEFLEXES AND VISUAL DEPTH 215' 

Still a further substitution of the same class, a further 
method of depth perception, is left to be discussed. It is 
among the most important, perhaps in life the preferably 
used, of the methods of perceiving depth. This is the so- 
called ''stereoscopic vision.'' It is again a substitution for 
a two-dimensional space perception. But it differs greatly 
from all those already discussed (in our list above). In 
those only one eye was required. High and low position 
in the field of vision (figure B), for example, does not re- 
quire the use of two eyes. It is perfectly obvious in a single 
eye's image. 

The perception of depth which is called stereoscopic vis- 
ion is based on the fact that the two pictures of the two 
eyes are not identical. The existence of two different pic- 
tures being essential, the use of both eyes is then of course 
a requisite. The two pictures are not different in such a 
>\ay that where there is a horse, for example, in one, there 
might be a cow in the other. The objects, the visible things, 
are the same.. But in a lateral direction they do not have 
exactly the same places. (Vertically, the locations of the 
objects in the ohe eye's picture do not differ from those 
in the other.) The objects, or details of the objects, do 
not have exactly the same lateral distances from each other. 
And this fact can be utilized, as we shall see, for perceiv- 
ing the third dimension with marvelous accuracy. 

In order to understand stereoscopic vision well, it is neces- 
sary to understand the functional relations in general be- 
tween the nervous currents coming from one retina and 
those coming from the other retina. We find there also 
certain problems concerning two-dimensional space percep- 
tion which have not yet been discussed. 

Having two eyes is a luxury so far as their use for local- 
izing reflexly is concerned, where (disregarding such an- 



246 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHEE-OKE 

atomical details as the ''blind spot") the second eye can do 
nothing that the first eye could not do alone. Neverthe- 
less, the Other-One not only has two, but carries them in 
such a position that most objects are pictured in both eyes 
and objects pictured in one eye and not in the other are 
decidedly a minority of little importance on account of 
their indistinctness. In general, then, we do not go far 
astray when we say that what is seen by one eye is also 
seen by the other. 

Let us now consider one of the consequences of this ar- 
rangement. In our figure the two circles at R and L 
represent cross-sections thru the Other-One's eye-balls (who 
stands below us, if you wish, and whose eyes are seen from 
above thru a transparent skull). The median plane, the 
plane which divides his body into two symmetrical halves 
and passes thru the tip of his nose, is indicated in the 
figure by the dotted line lying between R and L. The ob- 
ject A, for example an electric light or an apple, sends 



TWO EYES FIXED AND EXPOSED TO VARYING 
STI1MIUL.ATI0NS. 

rays to the two ''pin holes'* and stimulates the retinas. 
The Other-One has a reflex of adjusting the axis of his 
eye so that it coincides with the direction of the most 
significant one of the innumerable surrounding stimuli. We 
assume that the axes of the eyes have thus adjusted them- 
selves toward A ; and we shall regard them as stationary 



co-opeeatioln^ of the two retinas 247 

in our following considerations. In order to make them 
conspicuous, they (AR and AL) have been drawn some 
distance beyond the back of the eye ball. The object C also 
sends rays thru the pin holes. This object, from the point 
of view of the Other-One, whose eyes we see in our figure, 
lies on the right side of his median plane. It stimulates 
in each eye a point on the left part of his retina. 

The reflex response to the excitation caused on either 
retina by A is a forward movement of the localizing hand 
along the median plane. The reflex response to the excita- 
tion caused on either retina by C is a movement of the hand 
somewhat to the right, tho mainly forward. All this is 
plain. But what is the result of moving the light C to the 
position of B? Nothing is changed in the left eye (we 
remember that we supposed the eyes to remain stationary) 
and the reflex^response is still to the right forward. But 
the right retina is stimulated by B in auch a manner that 
the reflex movement of the hand is straight forward in the 
median plane. 

We already know that of two simultaneous nervous proc- 
esses one is often swallowed up, so to speak, by the other. 
But this is not always the case. Assume that this does not 
happen here, that neither nervous process suffers a deflec- 
tion. The arm, being pulled by certain muscles somewhat 
to the right, by other muscles straight forward, will then 
move according to the law of mechanics along the ''re- 
sultant,'' not quite straight forward, but deviating slightly 
to the right. The hand will then probably touch, localize, 
the object B. 

Now recall what we said about substituting one reaction, 
for example, the pronunciation of the word ''one" or the 
word "two,'' for two localizing movements. Apply this to 
the movements localizing object A. The right eye calls 



248 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

forth a muscular activity tending to localize A. The left 
eye calls forth exactly the same muscular activity localiz- 
ing A. When for these two identical localizing reactions 
a single speech reaction is substituted, it naturally is the 
pronunciation of the word "one/' 

Now make the application to point B. The right eye, 
we said, calls forth a muscular activity tending straight 
forward in the median plane. But the left eye calls forth 
a muscular activity tending somewhat toward the right, 
since the left part of the retina is stimulated. When for 
these two dififerent localizing reactions a single speech re- 
action is substituted, it is the pronunciation of the word 
"two." 

Now imagine that B is the only object before the Other- 
One and that, after having heard him say "two" before 
witnesses, an evil-minded person, say, the attorney of the 
other side in a legal case where the Other-One is one of 
the litigating parties, localizes with his own arm — picks the 
apple, let us say — before the Other-One's eyes the object 
B. And immediately he asks the Other-One: "How^ many 
apples did I pick?" The Other-One answers "one," and 
the lawyer: "Then please pick the other apple, for you 
said a moment ago that there were two." There the Other- 
One stands, shamefaced. There is no other apple in sight. 
Of course, he cannot call himself a Har, especially here, in 
court. Think of the consequences ! And besides, he has 
not been insincere. So he replies like a gentleman : "Ex- 
cuse me. I was mistaken. I did not want to say it. I 
shall not say it again. I ought to have said there was 
one apple. In the future, I promise, I shall say in such a 
case, truthfully, that there is only one." 

But now the evil one has him in his grip. While some- 
one is momentarily obstructing the Other-One's view, he 



CO-OPEKATIOK OF THE TWO RETINAS 249 

hangs up the apples A and C, screening them so (by screens 
not indicated in the figure, to keep it simple) that A can 
not stimulate the left eye and C can not stimulate the right 
eye. "How many are there?'' he asks. The Other-One 
remembers what he has promised. His retinas are stim- 
ulated exactly as they were in the former case by the apple 
B. He answers timidly ''one.'' He expects that this answer 
will work better. But he congratulates himself too soon 
on his quick adaptability. He hears the lawyer's diabolical 
laughter while he picks two apples, A and C, gives them 
to the Other-One and asks him whether he will accuse him 
of having picked any apple that was invisible to the Other- 
One. The Other-One can not honestly accuse him of hav- 
ing done that. There the Other-One stands, confounded, 
having said ''one apple" and holding two apples in his 
hand, exposed to the charge of being an habitual liar. 

If we have reported these facts in a dramatic form, we 
have done that in order to draw some serious conclusions 
from them in a later part of this book, where we discuss 
hysteria and other abnormalities. Generally, under per- 
fectly normal conditions of the organism, this kind of 
trouble is rather mild. Indeed in ordinary life, outside of 
the psychological laboratory, with perfectly normal people 
no such trouble as that reported above as having happened 
in court is to be feared. Why not? 

The Other-One does not in ordinary life keep his eyes 
as still as they were supposed to be during the whole story. 
In ordinary life, when he says "one" or "two," his judg- 
ment is the combined ■ result of innumerable successive 
stimulations of his ever moving eyes. The essential fact 
which we want to bring out in our discussion at this mo- 
ment is not the possibility of trouble of a practical kind, 
but is the following. 



250 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

Whether the Other-One applies to the objective situation 
to which his eyes are momentarily exposed the name ''one'' 
or the name ''two/' does not depend on whether the points 
stimulated on the two retinas are mathematically corre- 
sponding or not corresponding. During the second half of 
the nineteenth century it was fashionable among physi- 
ologists and psychologists to construct geometrically that 
peculiarly curved, bowl-shaped surface, for any possible 
distance before a person's nose, of which every point would 
stimulate the retinas in mathematically corresponding 
points. They called this surface the horopter. (One might 
translate this "locus of sights.") 

The construction of the horopter'- was undoubtedly a 
good mathematical exercise, but its biological significance 
was not equal to the amount of the labor spent in construct- 
ing it. The correlation between the mathematically just 
corresponding or mathematically non-corresponding points 
on the retinas, on the one hand, and the speech reactions 
"one" or "two," on the other hand, is not absolute (as the 
theory and construction of the horopter assumes), but de- 
pendent on innumerable accidents of life at the moment 
in question. The correlation between correspondence on 
the retinas and the speech reaction has no absolute mean- 
ing, but a meaning only in terms of probability. 

When the two points are mathematically corresponding, 
the probability of the Other-One's speech reaction being 
"one" is very great and the probability of his speech re- 
action being "two" is exceedingly small. In practice this 
means that to repeated questions "One or two?" he is heard 
to answer nearly always "one," very rarely if ever "two." 

The less the two retinal points correspond mathematic- 
ally, the greater the probability of his answering "two," 
while the probability of his answering "one" decreases ac- 



CO-OPEEATION^ OF THE TWO EETIKAS 251 

cordingly. This means, for example, that with a certain 
deviation from mathematical correspondence the Other-One 
is found to answer repeated questions now by ''one/' only 
a second later perhaps by ''two," a little later again by 
"one," and so forth ; maybe as many times "one" as "two." 
With still greater mathematical deviation, he answers usu- 
ally "two" and but rarely "one." However, the mathe- 
matical deviation may be very great indeed, and yet he 
may answer "one" as in the case above, where the answer 
"one" was — honestly — expected to work better in court, 
altho as a matter of fact it didn't. 

Any one who does not object to poetical or figurative 
language, will permit us to compare the relation of the two 
retinas with the relation of two persons living together, say, 
husband and wife. The wife, having just bought a new 
hat, addresses her husband with: "Is not this hat beauti- 
ful?" The husband replies : "It is truly beautiful." They 
have but one opinion. They are in their domestic func- 
tions but one. They co-operate, do not compete. But sup- 
pose that the husband replies : "That hat looks like a bird's 
nest." They have different opinions. They are in their 
domestic functions two. They compete, they are rivals. 

So your retinas sometimes compete ; you then say "two." 
Sometimes they co-operate ; you then say "one." In the nerv- 
ous system this competition between two currents from the 
two eyes is equivalent to a small degree of "condensation" 
of the nervous functioning; co-operation is equivalent to 
much "condensation." The reaction is more likely to be a 
single reaction in the latter case. 

One must not think, however, that there is never any 
retinal rivalry when the two points stimulated on the two 
retinas are mathematically corresponding. The following 
experiment will illustrate such cases without exhausting 



252 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 



them. The mathematically corresponding points are here 
stimulated in qualitatively different ways. 

The three figures (each being double) must be given to 
the Other-One with the request to look at one half with 
the one eye and at the other half with the other eye. xA.nd 
the Other-One's remarks while looking during a few min- 
utes must be carefully noted. Still better than to give him 
these little figures is it to give him larger sizes of them and 
to ask him to look at them thru an ordinary stereoscope. 

In such a case as that of the soldier and the donkey ap- 
pearing in the visual field of the right eye, the house and 
the tree in the visual field of the left eye, there is perhaps 
completely successful rivalry, a fight to the finish, in the 
sense that there is no co-operation based on a compromise. 
But it should then rather be called complete division of 




DIVISION OF LABOR BETWEEN THE TWO EYES. 

labor than rivalry. The one retina says : ''Here above is 
the foliage of a tree." The other retina, not receiving any 
stimulus to which a localizing movement upwards would 
be in order, instead of denying its existence, says nothing. 
The organism acts in accordance with the one order re- 



CO-OPEEATIO]^ OF THE TWO BETINAS 



253 



ceived. With respect to the donkey, the roles, active and 
passive, of the retinas are exchanged; otherwise it is the 
same case. . Competition here leads to complete submission 
of one of the competing parties. Such a relation between 
husband and wife might be the equivalent of perfect do- 
mestic happiness, but it would not be real co-operation. It 
is simply division of labor. 

A similar illustration would be the presentation to one 
eye of one capital letter of the alphabet and to the other 
eye of another letter so that the organism would respond: 
"It is a monogram." 

A little different is the case of the divided squares, half 
white, half black, one divided horizontally, the other verti- 
cally. In two of the four quarter squares there is perfect 
co-operation. ''To the left above there is black," says the 
husband. ''Black as pitch," confirms the wife. "To the 
right below there is white, snow-white," say husband and 
wife with the same unanimity. But with respect to the 




IN PARTS THEl RETINAS ARE CO-OPERATING, IN OTHER 
PARTS THEiY ARE WRESTONG. 

other two subdivisions there is rivalry. "There is black," 
says the husband. "There is white," retorts the wife. "No, 
there is black." the husband again ; and so forth. And the 
household, the organism, carries out now the one order, 



254 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

immediately afterwards the reverse, then again the first. 
That is, the Other-One, whose retinas are exposed, calls 
out : ''It is black. No ; no longer. A white cloud is pass- 
ing over it. It is white now. But no, a black cloud is 
passing over it. It is black again." And all this within the 
brief time of a few seconds. The two retinas are wrestling, 
so to speak. For a moment one has the upper hand, a 
little later the other. 

Sometimes, however, this rivalry leads, sooner or later, 
to a curious kind of co-operation based on compromise. 
''AH right," says the wife, "if you insist, I shall call it black ; 
but it is a rather luminous black." And the husband, with 
similar generosity : "All right, if you insist, I shall call it 
white; but it is a rather obscure white." And the house- 
hold, the organism (that is, the Other-One whose retinas 
are exposed,) calls out: "It seems to be only one, a lumi- 
nously-blackish-obscurely-whitish thing." Never mind the 
lack of logic in the combination of the epithets. Real life 
is not always logical. The Other-One might, of course, say 
that it is like a piece of black glass seen in the light of the 
day with the usual reflections of bright things surrounding 
him. 

Similar and yet more different again is the retinal ri- 
valry or co-operation when we use colors. Suppose you 
fill the Other-One's visual field of the left eye with blue, 
except that as an aid in the performance of the experi- 
ment there is a small black dot in the center of the field. 
The visual field to which the right eye is exposed has the 
same black dot in the center, but the right half of this field 
is green and the left half is red. The two retinas in this 
case co-operate rather readily with respect to the right half 
of the field. There is here much condensation of the nerv- 
ous functioning for some reason which we shall mention 



CO-OPEEATION OF THE TWO RETI:N^AS 



255 



presently and understand well in a later chapter. The right 
half is pronounced to be a greenish-blue or a bluish-green. 
With respect to the left half of the field, however, the 




NERVOUS CONDENSATION DEPENDING ON 
SIMILARITY. 

retinas usually function together in about the same man- 
ner as they did with respect to white and black in the 
former case, altho with a little more inclination toward a 
compromise. ''It is blue," says the organism. ''No, it is 
no longer blue. A red cloud has just passed over it ; it is 
red. But a blue cloud is again passing over it." And so 
forth the Other-One's remarks. There is but little conden- 
sation, then, of the nervous functioning. Competition 
reigns, and deflection now in this, now in that direction. 

Sometimes, however, that is, during certain moments 
alternating with those just described, the two retinas co- 
operate with red and blue too, compromise as they do with 
green and blue. The Other-One then pronounces the thing 
a reddish-blue, a violet, or a bluish-red, a purple. There 
is then an increased condensation of the nervous function- 
ing. The fact that rivalry is less probable, less frequent, 
that condensation is more probable, between the green and 
the blue excitations than between the red and the blue ex- 
citations, is apparently due to the fact that the excitations 
green and blue, as we shall see in a later chapter, are in a 
lesser degree dissimilar than the excitations red and blue. 



256 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 



After these discussions of the functional relations of the 
nervous currents having their origins in the two retinas, 
we can quite readily understand that method of depth per- 
ception which customarily goes under the name of stereo- 
scopic vision; and we therefore return to it now. We 
said in our beginning of its explanation that the reaction 
was in this case substituted for a perception of the differ- 
ence of the place, of one thing laterally from another thing, 
in the one eye's field of vision and in the other eye's field 
of vision. 

The Other-One, following our request, holds before his 
face a finger of his left hand and a pencil in his right hand. 
He holds, for mere convenience's sake, the pencil about 
twice as far from his face as the finger. And he holds the 
finger just a little to the left of the pencil, in order that 
the one may not obstruct the view of the other. We then 
ask him to close alternately either eye (but without mov- 





r\ 








r\ 







L R 

STEREOSCOPIC VISION. 

ing his head) and to draw a sketch of what he sees with 
the left eye and what with the right eye. In our figure we 
see this sketch drawn by him. L shows what he saw with 
his left, R what he saw with his right eye. L and R are 
plainly two different two-dimensional perceptions. 

In order to record the special kind of difference between 
the two perceptions, we request the Other-One to draw in 
the field or frame marked I the pencil as it actually ap- 
pears (at the finger's side) to the right eye; and then to 



STEREOSCOPIC VISION 257 

draw it also dotted in the position in which it would ap- 
pear (at the finger's side) if this eye's image were, what 
it is not, an exact copy of the left eye's image. He draws 
figure I and tells us that obviously the pencil has suffered 
a displacement. We ask him to state in which lateral di- 
rection it has been displaced. He replies ''To the right." 
We record the answer. 

I. ''The pencil (being farther) is displaced in the right 
eye's image to the right." 

Now we request the Other-One to draw in the field H 
the pencil as it actually appears to the left eye; and then 
to draw it dotted in the position in which it would appear 
if this eye's image were, what it is not, an exact copy of 
the right eye's image. He draws figure H and tells us that 
obviously the pencil has suffered a displacement. We ask 
him in what direction it has been displaced. He replies 
"To the left." We record the answer. 

H. "The pencil (being farther) is displaced in the left 
eye's image to the left." 

Now we request the Other-One to draw in the field HI 
the finger as it actually appears to the right eye; and then 
to draw it dotted in the position in which it would appear 
if this eye's image were, what it is not, an exact copy of 
the left eye's image. He draws figure HI and tells us that 
the finger has suffered a displacement. We ask him in 
what direction it has been displaced. He replies "To the 
left." We record his answer. 

HI. "The finger (being nearer) is displaced in the right 
eye's image to the left." 

Now we request the Other-One to draw in the field IV 
the finger as it actually appears to the left eye; and then 
to draw it dotted in the position in which it would appear 
if this eye's image were, what it is not, an exact copy of 



258 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 



the right eye's image. He draws figure IV and tells us 
that the finger is displaced. We ask him in what direction 
it is displaced. He replies "To the right.'' We record his 
answer. 

IV. ''The finger (being nearer) is displaced in the left 
eye's image to the right." 

Now we have in four distinct statements a complete de- 
scription of all the difference which can be found to exist 
in the two perceptions due to the use of two eyes. I and 
II combined describe the perception of the lateral displace- 





^ 


^ 


< 


1 — — 7 1 




-N 


\ 






n 




A 

1 1 
1 1 




Py 


'"\ 




»-»^ 


r-> 







II 



III 



IV 



THE LATEiRAL DISPLACEMENT FOR A FARTHER AND FOE' A 
NEARER OBJECT. 

ment of the farther one of the two objects. Ill and IV 
combined describe the perception of the lateral displace- 
ment of the nearer one of the two objects. Of course, the 
term "displacement," we must never forget, refers always 
to the place laterally occupied by one object in comparison 
to another object. Speaking of a single object the term 
would be meaningless. 

Experience, repeated innumerable times frorh earliest in- 
fancy, results in the formation of a substitution habit. The 
Other-One substitutes the reaction of caUing a thing 
'^farther" than another, when that thing, in the two dimen- 
sions of the field of vision, might be called ''displaced in 
the right eye's image to the right and in the left eye's image 
to the left." 

And the Other-One also substitutes the reaction of re- 
garding a thing as ''nearer" than another, when that thing 



STEEEOSCOPIC VISION 259 

might be called ''displaced in the right eye's image to the 
left and in the left eye's image to the right." These two 
substitute reactions, and nothing further, are the whole nerv- 
ous function which is entitled in theoretical discussions 
"stereoscopic vision." 

We understand from our preceding discussions that this 
substitution depends on the existence of a considerable and 
sufficient amount of condensation in the nervous function- 
ing. How could the thing otherwise be pronounced to be 
''one, but farther" or "one, but nearer?" It would, when 
there is little condensation in the nqrvous functioning, be 
pronounced "a thing in this place ,and a second thing in 
that different place." And a substitution likely to occur 
would then be the pronunciation "two different things." 

But one must never deceive himself by arguing that, 
logically, when for the pronunciation "two" the pronuncia- 
tion of the judgment of "distance" is substituted, the form- 
er judgment of doubleness is thereby barred. Logic in this 
sense does not apply to nervous functions. We have found 
this before. "Substitution" may easily turn out only an 
"addition" when we study the reactions to given situations. 
The condensation of the nervous functioning may be so 
strong that the two retinas cease to "rival," that they "com- 
promise" and call the thing "only one, but at a definite 
relative distance." This condensation may yet be insuffi- 
ciently strong to imply that virtually no nervous flux goes 
to the motor points of the two separate reactions "this 
place" and "that dift'erent place." And then the Other-One 
makes us the illogical, but actual and frequent enough state- 
ment: "This one pencil seems farther than the finger, and 
at the same time I am inclined to say that there are two 
different pencils." 



260 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-0:tsrE 

Of course, this result is the more to be expected — in 
other words, the condensation is the less likely to be strong 
— the greater the displacement, the greater the mathematical 
non-correspondence of the points stimulated in the two 
retinas. 

To repeat : double vision is often simultaneous with 
stereoscopic depth perception. Double vision is not incom- 
patible with stereoscopic depth perception. 

What has been said about the other perceptions of depth, 
should be repeated about stereoscopic vision. Nature might 
have given the substitute reaction to each individual of the 
human race as an inherited gift. But there is little doubt 
that Nature did not do it, and that the Other-One has to 
acquire stereoscopic vision as one habit among all the other 
habits of the perception of the third dimension. 

Leaving now the discussion of depth perception as such, 
we turn to a brief statement about those space perceptions 
which are illustrated by so-called puzzle pictures. Here, — 
that is, in high class puzzle pictures, not in the bungled pro- 
ductions often published in Sunday papers — one of two 
possible perceptions is as likely to occur first as the other 
perception. But when one perception has once taken pre- 
cedence over the other perception, the latter does not easily 
take the place of the former. This is natural, since the 
nervous current once strongly established, more readily de- 
flects others, new ones, starting ones, than it is itself de- 
flected by these starting ones. Besides, preoccupation plays 
its role. 

Good puzzles of this kind do not require for their solu- 
tion, for making the change, any turning of the page on 
which the picture is printed. 

Once in a while such a* puzzle picture can be obtained 
by photographing an actual situation. Such a situation is 



PUZZLE PICTUEES 



261 



then quite likely to cause practical troubles. The sketch here 
shown reproduces in its essential parts such a photographed 
puzzle. In a certain village of northern France the in- 
habitants, still somewhat affected by their experiences dur- 




•WASTED" REACTION. 



ing the recent war, saw an appearance of the Virgin Mary 
in their church yard, among the leafless trees. Show the 
picture of the church yard to the Other-One and ask him 
if he sees the Virgin. 



CHAPTER XI 

* 

Nature: Divides the Spectrum f^or the Other-One's 
Space Perception at a Distance. 

The retina is essentially a group of sensory points of the 
skin whose sensitivity has been peculiarly differentiated. 
The original eye is a pigmented area on the skin, as 
shown in figure I. The dark pigment absorbs the rays of 
light more efficiently than the unpigmented skin. During 
the process of evolution this area becomes a pit, obviously 
for its better protection, as shown in our figure II. Later 
a glassy body develops from the skin, as shown in III, 
closes the opening of the pit, and concentrates the light in 
a region- always opposite that region in the field of vision 



Pigment Skin 




Skin ' y^'^j^lliWfll^K^^^ Sk 




1 II III 

THE EVOLUTION OF THE EYE 

from which the light emanates. The sensory points of this 
area are now very sensitive to ether waves of light. Such 
waves easily produce chemical changes in the sensitive cells 
of the two retinas. 

But the problem with which Nature finds herself con- 
fronted is actually most complex. The object to which the 
organism is to react may not be different from the others 
because of its brightness, but on the contrary because of 
its darkness, its lack of light. The Other-One may be look- 

(262) 



TWO EXCITATIONS DUE TO LIGHT INTEKSITY 2'63 

ing for the blackboard in the schoolroom whose walls are 
painted white. Or the cave in which he usually finds shel- 
ter may — arid surely does when seen from a distance — 
dififer from the blufif in which it is located by its being a 
dark spot amidst brighter surroundings. 

Nature, therefore, could not be satisfied with differentiat- 
ing the sensitive cells in the retina merely so that they be- 
come sensitive to light. They must be sensitive to dark- 
ness too. A very particular (very complex and far from 
being exactly known, chemically understood) substance was 
developed by Nature in the sensitive cells. Following the 
example of others we call this chemical substance the Black- 
White substance. Its chief characteristic does not really 
consist in the fact that it is changed by light, but rather in 
the following more complicated fact. 

When neighboring cells of a retina are subject to differ- 
ing intensity of illumination, different chemical processes 
are set up, which are in some respect opposite. The re- 
sulting excitations, that is, are not merely differing in 
strength. Thus the very darkness of an object produces 
a very definite and really positive nervous process which 
passes along nervous conductors like any other nervous 
flux, and produces motor effects just as any other. 

But why did we say that these positive nervous processes 
are in some respect opposite? What kind of opposition, not 
referring to the strength of each process, is this ? 

One can get an idea of the nature of this opposition by 
looking at the narrow moon sickle just before or just after 
the new moon. The large part of the moon which does 
not, like the sickle, receive the sun's rays, is illuminated 
by the "full earth'' and should therefore in its totality ap- 
pear brighter than the dark sky. But when you ask the 
Other-One about this, he calls only the regions at the cir- 



264 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHEE-OKE 

cumference of the moon circle, bordering the dark sky, con- 
spicuously brighter than the sky. The regions marginal to 
the sickle he calls even conspicuously darker than the sky. 

We see thus that the intensities of the excitation Bright 
and of the excitation Dark are to a large extent independent 
of the absolute strength of the stimulating light and the 
stimulating lack of light. The strength of each excitation 
depends largely, if the other excitation occurs in the neigh- 
borhood, on the strength of that other excitation. We can 
say that there is observable, in adjacent regions of the 
retina, a phenomenon of contrast. And in this sense we 
can say that the two excitations in question, the one re- 
sulting from the stimulus light, the other from the stimulus 
lack of, or weakness of, light, are opposite processes. 

Into the details of the theories concerning this rather 
complex and far from perfectly understood pair of excita- 
tions we cannot enter in this elementary book. It must 
suffice to state that there is considerable evidence to the ef- 
fect that the excitation White and the excitation Black are 
chemically related in such a manner that they may be re- 
garded as parts,, constituents, of one chemical substance, 
which may be called the Black-White substance. 

Let us restate then what we said before : Nature had to 
make a provision to the effect that (1) the presence or 
relative strength of a light stimulus and also (2) the ab- 
sence or relative weakness of a light stimulus (when sur- 
rounded on the retina by stronger light) could each call 
forth a qualitatively distinct excitation often called '*proc- 
ess.'' There are then (thus far) two visual processes. 
And Nature provided the animal race with one substance 
in the retina. Within this substance the Black process and 
the White process may co-exist, and may co-exist in greatly 
varying ratios of the intensities of each. To these ratios 



THE BLACK-WHITE SUBSTANCE 265 

the Other-One answers with ''dark gray, medium gray, or 
light gray/' The substance may conveniently be called the 
Black-White substance. But Gray substance would also 
serve as a convenient name. 

The visual substance just mentioned enables animals to 
localize reflexly a darker object on a lighter background or 
a lighter object on a darker background. But think now 
of a dark yellowish or reddish apple hanging on a tree with 
the usual dark greenish-bluish foliage. It might easily hap-, 
pen that the animal's, or the Other-One's, sensory points 
on the retina are then illuminated by the apple neither more 
nor less strongly than those other sensory points on the 
retina which are illuminated by the surrounding foliage. The 
ratio of the Black process and the White process would 
be uniform all over. There would then be no possibility of 
localizing the apple, of getting it. 

But the light rays thrown back from the apple, altho not 
differing in intensity, may, and usually do, differ from those 
thrown back from the foliage. They consist of ether waves 
of different frequency, say, of lesser frequency. It is easily 
understood, therefore, why Nature furnished the animal 
race a second visual substance, in which again two differ- 
ent excitations could be called forth, but in this case differ- 
ing according as the frequency of the ether waves was great 
or little. But where, then, is the division line between low 
frequency and high frequency in this respect ? 

When we speak of, the totality of all those ether waves 
which are capable of exciting the retina, we speak of the 
''spectrum." The spectrum is an artificially produced array 
(usually, but not exclusively, produced by letting a ray of 
light pass thru a prism) of all these ether waves, or kinds 
of light. The light possessing the greatest frequency of 
waves we throw on one end, that of the least frequency on 
the other end of the array. 



266 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 



Nature could have made the second visual substance 
similar to the first in this respect that the two excitations, 
or processes, could co-exist in the same sensory cell, and 
the ratio of their intensities would differ according to the 
frequency of the ether waves, as according to the intensity 
of the ether waves it differed in the first visual substance. 
We should have found, there, much of the one excitation 
and little of the other at one end of the spectrum, much of 
the other and little of the one excitation at the other end 
of the spectrum, and about equal amounts of each in the 
middle. That would have served the locahzation of the 
apple in the above case perfectly. But Nature did not do 
anything of the kind with this second substance, but de- 
cided to confine one excitation to one side of the spectrum, 
the other to the other side, and to deny both to the place 
between them, near the division point. 

Now, the frequencies of the ether waves in the spectrum 
do not spontaneously fall into two definite divisions. The 
change from greater frequencies to lesser frequencies is by 
infinitesimal, not by finite steps. Nature therefore had to 



Scarlet-Orange- Yellow-Olive-GTeen Peacock- Blue- Violet- Purple 


Spectrum 


Named Yellow | 


Named Blue 


Two Excitations 


Named Red or Yellow 


Named Green or Blue 



II 



Two Excitations 



draw the line between the two divisions of great and little 
frequency rather arbitrarily to suit . her ideas about this 
second visual substance. And Nature experimented, so to 
speak, before finally deciding where to draw the dividing 



NATUEE EXPERIMENTS WITH DIVIDING THE SPECTRUM 267 

line; she tried drawing it here and drawing it there, as 
we shall see presently. 

Above',- the upper band, marked spectrum, represents the 
array of wave frequencies. If instead of writing the fre- 
quency numbers per second we have written familiar color 
names, this has been done only because the color names ap- 
peal more to the average person's fancy. These color names 
really serve here as nothing but frequency numbers, the 
lowest on the left, the highest on the right end of the band. 
Below this band there are two other bands marked on the 
right side I and II and each entitled ''Two Excitations.'' 
These represent those two trials of Nature which we have 
evidence she made. 

In I she drew the dividing line at the point Green. The 
ether waves to the right of this dividing line had to pro- 
duce the one of the two excitations in question, first the 
more strongly (as indicated by the sloping line) the farther 
we pass to the right from the dividing line, then again more 
and more weakly until at the end of the spectrum the in- 
tensity of this excitation fades away. On the left side we 
have the other excitation, also possessing a maximum be- 
tween two minima, more exactly between two zeros. The 
ether waves of the frequency represented by the dividing 
line do not call forth either of the two excitations. 

Let us here indulge in a little fable. We have seen previ- 
ously that the original purpose of any two differing excita- 
tions must have been the advantage of localizing objects. But 
at once another advantage offers itself, resulting from the 
existence of more than one excitation. Nature can now 
make an animal react to one of these excitations by one 
reflex movement and to the other by an entirely different 
reflex movement, — to give two among thousands of pos- 
sible examples, to the one by opening the mouth, to the 
other by closing the mouth, or to the one by a positive 



268 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-OISrE 

localization, to the other by a negative localization. Sup- 
pose some of the Other-One's ancestors at a remote stage 
of evolution, long before the existence of man, were able 
to speak, as in the fables, and were able even to foresee 
what names he nowadays would give to the different parts 
of the spectrum, and were given the task of choosing their 
own color names in such a way that they would suit best 
their offspring's modern color names. What would they 
do? 

We assume that they possessed only the excitations thus 
far mentioned and not all of ours. They would know then 
that the Other-One would most frequently react to one of 
these excitations (in the case I) by saying ''yellowish-red" 
(scarlet) or "reddish-yellow" (orange) or ''yellow" or 
"yellow-green" or, rarely, "green." That is, nearly always 
by using Yellow. They would naturally choose the name 
"yellow." They would further know that the Other-One 
would, at this later period of history, most frequently re- 
act to the second of the two excitations last mentioned by 
saying "faint bluish-red" (purple) or "reddish-blue" (vio- 
let) or "blue" or "blue-green" (peacock) or, rarely, 
"green." That is, nearly always by using Blue. They 
would naturally choose the name "blue." 

In the sense which we have just illustrated by a some- 
what fanciful story we could say therefore that animals 
at a very early time had only the "blue" and the "yellow" 
color vision, that they did not possess the Other-One's four- 
fold color vision (blue, yellow, green, red) about which 
we shall have to say a little more in the next chapter. 

But Nature made at least one other experiment with 
dividing the spectrum. The lower band, marked II, shows 
where the dividing line was located in this attempt. The 
Other-One's remote ancestors with those fabulous abilities 
of speech and foresight which we attributed to them would 



SOME COL,OErBI.INDKESS 269 

have had to make a different choice, a less simple choice 
of names. The dividing line is here located in the part of 
the spectrum which their offspring now calls Olive. On 
the left he uses the names ''yellowish-red/' ''reddish-yel- 
low," ''yellow'' and "greenish-yellow,'' that is, always Yel- 
low but very frequently also the term Red. On the right 
he uses the names "faint bluish-red," "reddish-blue," "blue," 
"blue-green," "green'i and "yellowish-green," that is, very 
frequently either of the terms Green and Blue. Those an- 
cestors therefore would probably have chosen to respond to 
the ether waves on the left side by calHng them indis- 
criminately either red or yellow, and to those on the right 
side by calling them indiscriminately either green or blue, 
using for themselves the former two as synonyms and the 
latter two as synonyms. 

The Other-One, transported back in history to that time, 
would have been astonished at this particular lack of dis- 
crimination and would have reported it in a letter to a 
friend by writing something like this : "Those ancestors 
of mine do not distinguish between red and yellow on the 
one hand, and do not distinguish between green and blue 
on the other. When one of them says that straw is yellow 
and the other says it is red, the first does not retort, but 
acts as if red and yellow were synonyms. And when a 
third person who just pricked his finger shows a drop of 
blood and exclaims : 'This looks like your straw,' they 
treat him as if he were a perfectly sane person. With re- 
spect to the words green and blue, and with respect to 
green and blue things, they act in the same queer manner." 

All that we have said about the Other-One's remarkable 
ancestors changes from fable into reality as soon as we 
look around and find that some of these ancestors are liv- 
ing with us today. We call them color-blind. They de- 



270 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

serve the name because in certain situations they act as if 
they were bHnd; for example, some of them may be as 
unable to localize by a reflex movement a certain red apple 
on a certain green tree as a blind person is unable to do 
that. We mean by color-blindness, physiologically, that the 
person in question has only the two visual substances thus 
far discussed, the Black-White substance whose two ex- 
citations depend on varying degrees ^of light intensity, and 
the second visual substance, a ''color" or "chroma" sub- 
stance, whose two excitations depend on the range of the 
vibration frequencies of the light. A color-blind person has 
an incomplete coloi" sense. The Other-One's complete 
color sense, as we shall later see, presupposes a third visual 
substance with two further excitations within it. 

When we said above that we had evidence that Nature 
made at least two trials of finding a suitable dividing line 
for the two excitations in the spectrum, we had in mind, 
not exclusively, but chiefly, the fact that these two types of 
color-blind persons exist ; one type to whom all parts of 
the spectrum to the left of what we call Green are alike, 
but different from those on the right ; another type to w^hom 
all parts to the left of Olive are alike, and all to the right of 
Olive are also alike, but different from those on the left. 

The latter type, fully established, is very rare; the au- 
thor of this, however, had the good fortune of having a 
perfect representative of this type under his own observa- 
tion. But a very common relic of this condition still exists, 
— in every normal human being. It is a more important 
evidence of Nature's trial than a few rare cases of color- 
blindness. Ask the Other-One whether Red and Yellow, in 
spite of their dissimilarity, when compared with Green or 
Blue, do not seem to belong together, to be somewhat simi- 
lar, — and the answer will be in the affirmative. And like- 



ORDINARY COLOR-BLINDISrESS 271 

wise Blue and Green, in spite of their dissimilarity, when 
compared with Red and Yellow, seem to have something 
in common, seem to be similar. A third fact belonging 
here is the habit of the artists of putting the former into 
one class and calling them warm colors, the latter into an- 
other class and calling them cold colors. This habit brings 
out the same distinction. 

Much more common is the other type of color-blindness 
(in our fable mentioned first) which is represented by 
those to whom Scarlet, Orange, Yellow, and Olive are 
virtually meaningless distinctions, to whom it means nothing 
at all when the first autumn frost, leaving only a part of 
the foliage green, changes the larger part of the foliage in 
park and forest to yellow, orange, and even to a fiery red. 
Among a hundred men we are quite likely to find one of 
this kind. He does not object if you call all the autumn 
foliage simply yellow. We said intentionally ^'men,'' for 
we rarely find color-blind women. This color-blindness 
is a biological character which is sex-linked in a remark- 
able way. It is dominant (that is, observable) usually 
only in men, recessive (that is, not apparent) in women. 
And yet it is inherited, not thru a man (his father), but 
thru a woman (his mother). If a boy is color-blind, we 
usually find that neither his mother nor his father is color- 
blind, but that his mother's father is color-blind. 

If a girl is color-blind, we usually find that her father 
and also her mother's father are color-blind. We under- 
stand thus why a girl is rarely color-blind. That depends 
on a rare case of ancestral mating. 

We saw above (speaking of warm and cold colors) that 
the other type of color-blindness is in a mild sense a per- 
sonal experience to every normal person. Even less for- 
eign to everyone is this type. The normal retina may be 



272 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE, OTHER-ONE 

regarded as consisting of three concentric areas, a central 
disk, an intermediate zone and a peripheral zone. In the 
intermediate zone everyone has a colorblindness of this 
type, that is, all colors of the spectrum to the left of the 
point Green look alike, yellow, and all those to the right 
look alike, look blue. (Nothing in the spectrum ever looks 
here either greenish or reddish.) In the peripheral zone 
everything looks perfectly colorless, resembling an ordinary 
photograph or so-called half-tone print, some parts differ- 
ing from others merely in being brighter or darker. In 
this peripheral zone the retina has only the Black-White 
substance. In the intermediate zone the retina has the 
Black- White and also the Blue-Yellow substance. 

Only in the central disk has even the most normal in- 
dividual his complete color sense, which presupposes a third 
visual substance. What the properties are of this third 
visual substance, we shall tell in the next chapter. 

We owe to the German physiologist Hering the now gen- 
erally accepted suggestion that the Blue excitation and the 
Yellow excitation are, not only different, but antagonistic 
in the sense that they cannot co-exist in the same sensitive 
cell. (We remember that the Black process and the White 
process can co-exist.) No uniformly colored thing is to 
be found in nature which the Other-One calls yellowish 
and bluish. Either one, or the other, or neither. Never 
both. If we mix artificially on a color-wheel a yellow and 
a blue disk (making sure that we do not choose a greenish- 
blue), we can change the proportions of the sectors so 
that the result is called bluish, or yellowish, or neither, but 
not so that the result is called bluish-yellowish. 

Hering suggested that the two excitations making up 
this pair be called assimilation and dissimilation. Other 
terms, also frequently used and perhaps even more use- 



THE YEI^OW-BLUB SUBSTANCE 273 

ful, are recomposition and decomposition within the Blue- 
Yellow, substance. When two forces act on a chemical sub- 
stance, one tending to decompose and the other to recom- 
pose, and these forces are equally strong, nothing, obvi- 
ously, would happen in that substance. So we understand 
why blue and yellow on the color-wheel cancel each other. 

Even with a minimum of chemical knowledge one can 
make this clear to himself. Suppose you pour together, in 
liquid form, water and its two components, hydrogen and 
oxygen. Now put a good stopper on your bottle and do 
not let anything either get out or get in. Certain influences, 
however, can act on the contents of the bottle. Heat, for 
example, would favor composition. An electric current 
would cause decomposition. But both influences (''stimuli") 
acting together and with equal strength on this mixture 
(the Blue- Yellow substance, let us say) of a compound and 
its components, could in the bottle (the sensitive cell) in- 
crease neither the compound at the expense of its com- 
ponents (the process of recomposition) nor the compo- 
nents at the expense of the compound (the process of de- 
composition). Recomposition and decomposition are an- 
tagonistic. And thus the Blue excitation and the Yellow 
excitation are antagonistic. 

Neither Hering nor anyone else has suggested whether 
the Blue excitation should be identified with the process of 
decomposition or with the process of recomposition; and 
the Yellow excitation accordingly. That can be assumed 
arbitrarily either the one or the other way. 

The greatest value of Hering's theory of antagonistic 
chemical processes in the Blue-Yellow substance consists 
in permitting us to foretell that the Other-One will react 
in certain ways to certain situations, not yet described, and 
in finding that he actually does so react. These situations 



274 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

we shall now describe under the names of (1) general 
adaptation, (2) successive induction, and (3) simultaneous 
induction. 

Suppose we stimulate any definite group of the Other- 
One's retinal sensory cells in the same, unchanged, man- 
ner for five minutes or longer. For example, we ask him 
to keep his head and eyes perfectly still and then put before 
him on his writing desk a large piece of yellow paper, or 
we make him look steadily at a wall painted yellow. Sup- 
pose the retinal cells on which the yellow stimulus acts 
suffer the excitation which consists in decomposition of 
the Blue- Yellow substance, (Recomposition, then, is as- 
sumed to result whenever the stimulus is blue.) 

Now, since the yellow stimulus remains unchanged, and 
since (we remember that the ''bottle" is securely stoppered) 
the group of retinal cells has no more succor than a be- 
sieged city, the decomposition can not go on eternally. After 
a while it must cease, simply because there is no ''com- 
pound" left to be decomposed. But, if you were the 
Creator, would you not regard this condition of the Other- 
One as a highly undesirable predicament ? Yet it is un- 
avoidable unless everything so far agreed On is changed 
entirely. There will inevitably come a time — no matter, 
whether in five, ten, or more minutes — when the Other-One 
no longer has, in that part of his field of vision, that ex- 
citation (the Yellow process) to react to. There will be a 
time when he tells us: "That paper (or wall) is no longer 
yellow." 

But the least you would want to do for him, if you had 
the Creator's power, would be to put off that predicament 
as long as possible, just as the commander of a besieged 
city, or a farmer entirely snowed in, would put ofif the 
moment of surrendering to the enemy, or to starvation. 



EECOMPOSITIOI^r AN^D DECOMPOSITION 275 

The usual method is rationing of the supply. And so the 
eye is made in such a manner that it will give up at a 
steadily diminishing rate the recomposed material to the 
stimulus for being decomposed. The eye, we may say, 
spontaneously resists more and more the process of decom- 
position and thereby delays its complete cessation. 

The Other-One, accordingly, long before he tells us that 
the paper has ceased to be yellow, is found to remark again 
and again that its yellowishness has become weaker and 
weaker and weaker. Of course, the experiment with blue 
would have yielded the corresponding result. 

What we have just described, deserves to be called, and 
is called, a ''general adaptation'' to the exigencies of a situa- 
tion. Why it is called ''adaptation," is immediately clear. 
It is called "general" merely because one of the other two 
phenomena to be described, the one called "simultaneous 
induction," is sometimes also called "adaptation" and then, 
for the sake of distinction, "local" adaptation. 

Suppose now, our above experiment being finished, we 
permit the Other-One to use his eyes freely. The region 
where all recomposed material of the Blue-Yellow sub- 
stance has been changed into decomposed material could 
then not function normally. A perfectly normal function 
does indeed presuppose a perfect balance between the avail- 
able quantity of the recomposed and the decomposed ma- 
terial. But when of the one kind there is absolutely nothing, 
the condition of the retina is extremely abnormal. How 
can it most quickly be made normal again ? 

The general supply store, so to speak, of any part of 
the body is the blood. For example, if a bone is broken 
and bone building material is needed, it can be, and is, ob- 
tained from the blood. But needed material can be ob- 
tained from the blood only slowly. We know that it takes 



276 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-OXE 

more than days — weeks and even months — to heal a wound 
or a broken bone. It might take hours or days to replenish 
the sensory cells. Now think of the farmer snowed in. If 
it takes too long to get a chemical substance, say soap, 
from the store in the tow^n, and he has grease and wood 
ashes, he quickly makes the soap himself. And the sensi- 
tive cells have plenty of the raw material from which the 
compound needed can be made. The raw material in this 
case is the decomposed material. And there is enough of 
it in the cells. Indeed the very complaint is that there is 
too much of it. 

So Nature, in order to solve the problem, should have 
enabled the sensitive cells to restore spontaneously the bal- 
ance between the quantity of the decomposed and the re- 
composed material. And Nature has enabled them. And 
at once, therefore, when the yellow stimulus is removed, 
the eye spontaneously sets up the antagonistic process. But 
the antagonistic process, recomposition, is the Blue excita- 
tion. To it the Other-One can hardly help responding in 
the normal way. So he tells us : ''Whatever patch in the 
room (other than that yellow patch) I now look at, on the 
ceiling, the floor, my arm (and where not!), it is blue.'* 

This phenomenon is called successive induction. The 
term ''induction" was borrowed by Hering from physics, 
where we are accustomed to speak of electrical induction. 
And it is called "successive" naturally because the Other- 
One's remark that the patch in whose direction he looks 
is blue succeeds his remark that the patch in whose direction 
he formerly looked was yellow. Of course, if the first 
color name had been blue, the second would have been 
yellow. Yellow and blue are in the description of this 
phenomenon entirely interchangeable. 



ADAPTATION AND INDUCTION 277 

The third phenomenon we promised to describe, can also 
be deduced from the theory simply as an economic neces- 
sity. If the farmer needs soap, needs it soon, and has 
plenty of the raw material, but cannot boil it in his own 
house (the yellow stimulus prevents the blue excitation in 
certain sensitive cells, — the ''patch"), he may take the raw 
material to a near neighbor's house, boil his soap, and take 
it back home even before his soap supply has become com- 
pletely exhausted. The retinal ''patch," while decomposed 
material more and more accumulates in it, sends it over its 
border, has it recomposed on the other side and sent back 
in a steady stream to be decomposed again. 

This will naturally result in two facts. First, along the 
border on the patch the rationing need not be as severe as 
farther inside. That is, along the border on the patch the 
Yellow excitation is stronger than farther inside. And just 
outside the border, in a marginal region, the Blue excitation 
occurs in spite of the absence of an adequate stimulus. The 
Other-One tells us that the marginal region of the patch 
is yellower than the inside of the patch, and that it is sur- 
rounded by a blue margin. 

This phenomenon is called simultaneous induction, because 
the blue outer margin and the yellow patch with its intense- 
ly yellow inner margin appear simultaneously. 

The marginal character of simultaneous induction can 
easily be concealed by avoiding patches and instead com- 
posing the field of vision of alternate yellow (or blue) 
and gray stripes, making them narrow enough so that the 
margin on one side just overlaps the margin on the other 
side and renders the coloring of each stripe uniform in its 
entirety. The Other-One, then, when asked whether he 
sees the field of vision composed of yellow and gray stripes, 
tells us that this is not so ; but that the alternate stripes are 
yellow and blue. 



278 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-OXE 

The theory, or rather hypothesis, of Hering, assuming 
two processes (excitations) of recomposition and decom- 
position in the single Blue-Yellow substance, is a beautiful 
explanation of the four facts of antagonism, general adapta- 
tion, successive induction, and simultaneous induction. But 
the division of the spectrum which we have discussed in 
this chapter is not a mere hypothesis, but a fact referring 
to uncounted observations of the Other-One's reactions to 
visual stimuli when the latter are taken from the spectrum. 



CHAPTER XII 

Nature Makes a Second Division o^ the Spectrum. 

Perhaps Nature made a mistake in preferring the method 
of dividing the spectrum between the two excitations, to the 
method of changing the ratio of the two excitations gradu- 
ally from one end to the other end of the spectrum. If 
Nature could use two excitations, co-existing, but varying 
in ratio, for all the shades from white to black. Nature 
surely cotild have used also two other excitations, co-exist- 
ing, but varying in ratio, for the scale of frequency of the 
ether waves. 

The mistake consists in preferring a merely two-fold 
division to a many-fold, indeed unlimited, division based 
on a ratio whose variations are unlimited. A poppy flower 
in a wheat field is then found to be not localizable because 
the ether waves coming from the flower and the wheat lie 
in the spectrum on the same side of the division line. 

In order to remedy this (generally not vital, but never- 
theless undesirable) defect, what can Nature do? We dis- 
cover that Nature, in order to improve the frequency dis- 
crimination of the ether waves, has actually made a second 
division of the spectrum within the ''Yellow'' region of 
the spectrum. For this purpose Nature has had to intro- 
duce a third visual substance. And she has selected this 
third visual substance in such a manner that within it again 
the phenomenon of antagonism exists. That is, the two 
different excitations within it are again of the nature of 
recomposed and decomposed material, each one changeable 
into the other. 

(279) 



280 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-OI^E 



Now, in looking for a chemical substance which might 
serve as this third visual substance, Nature made a very 
queer choice. She selected a substance which — if it is not 
the Yellow excitation itself, that is, the part of the Blue- 
Yellow substance whose increase calls forth the response 
''yellow'' — certainly is about the same thing as the Yellow 
excitation. This selection, we shall see presently, has a 
very strange consequence. 

First, however, let us look at a diagram showing the 
point of the spectrum where the division is made within 
the Yellow region. This region is shown in the band mark- 
ed A on the right, which is identical with the band marked 
I in our former diagram. 



Scarlet-Orange- Yellow-Olive-Green-Pcacock- Blue- Violet- Purple 



Tints 




„ ^ B 

Second Two Excitations 

The right half of the region of the Yellow excitation is 
called by the Other-One greenish, especially toward the 
right where its yellowishness is less pronounced. The left 
half of the region of the Yellow excitation is called by the 
Other-One reddish, especially toward the left where its 
yellowishness is weak. But the middle of this region 
naturally is not called by the Other-One either reddish or 
greenish, since there neither the Red process nor the Green 
process is in existence. He calls it purely yellow. 

Now let us return to the strange consequence of Nature's 
selection of something virtually identical with the Yellow 



'^ THE: RED-GKEEN^ SUBSTANCE 281 

excitation, to serve as the third visual substance, as the 
Red-Green substance. We ask the Other-One to mix on a 
color- wheel a red (and not at all yellowish) disk and a green 
(and not at all yellowish) disk in such a manner that the 
result is neither red nor green. This can easily be done 
with just a little care and patience, for in the Red-Green sub- 
stance recomposition and decomposition exclude each other. 
He adjusts the sectors, taking less red if it still looks red- 
dish, less green if it still looks green. Finally he pro- 
nounces it to be neither red nor green. But if we ask him 
if it is now absolutely colorless, he tells us that that is 
far from being true. He tells that he would call the disk 
spinning before his eyes a kind of yellow, — not straw yel- 
low, to be sure, but some rather dark and muddy looking 
yellow, but yellow nevertheless. 

This result seems very strange, but loses its strangeness 
as soon as we remember how Nature selected the Red- 
Green substance. She made the Red-Green substance 
simply by taking the Yellow excitation and modifying it 
very slightly, if at all. Now when a red and a green disk 
are mixed on the color wheel so that neither the Red ex- 
citation nor the Green excitation (neither recomposition nor 
decomposition in the Red-Green substance) are allowed, a 
disturbance of some sort nevertheless is created in a sub- 
stance which is virtually the Yellow excitation. And this 
disturbance of the entire Red-Green substance seems to be 
passed along the nervous conductors with about the same 
effect as if the normal Yellow excitation had been created 
within the Blue-Yellow substance and were being passed 
along the nervous conductors. 

Having divided the Yellow region of the spectrum. Nature 
would — we should expect — divide the Blue region, too, of 
the spectrum and thereby introduce into the eye a further 
visual substance. She divides this region indeed, but dis- 



s 



282 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

covers, we may say, that it is unnecessary to introduce a 
fourth visual substance. She discovers that, for some 
cause, the third, the Red-Green substance, suffers recom- 
position in one of the halves of the Blue region of the 
spectrum, and decomposition in the other half of the Blue 
region. The same Red-Green substance is therefore se- 
lected to serve also for the divisional discrimination of the 
two parts of the Blue region of the spectrum. 

The Other-One, as is indicated in the band B of pur 
diagram, calls the left part of the region of the Blue ex- 
citation greenish, especially toward the left, where its blu- 
ishness is less pronounced. He calls the right part of the 
region of the Blue excitation reddish. But the middle of 
this region he naturally does not call either reddish or 
greenish, since there neither the Red process nor the Green 
process is in existence. He calls it purely blue. 

Speaking of the entire spectrum, we must say, in ac- 
cordance with B in the diagram, that the whole central part 
is by the Other-One pronounced to be greenish and both 
ends, right and left, reddish. 

Now we understand why the Other-One shows so much 
admiration for the great variety of coloring exhibited by 
spectrums, for example, by that spectrum which is a fre- 
quently seen natural phenomenon, — by the rainbow. One ex- 
treme he calls yellowish-red (scarlet). This extreme lies 
in our diagram on the left. Passing to the right, he tells 
us that the scarlet becomes more and more yellowish, until 
he inclines to give it the name of orange. Passing further 
to the right, the orange loses more and more its reddish- 
ness and becomes a color best described by the simple name 
yellow. Passing on, the yellow assumes a greenish tinge, 
becomes olive, and then green pure and simple. This hap- 
pens where the Green excitation is quite free of any ad- 
mixture of either the Yellow excitation or the Blue excita- 



THE EAINBOW 283 

tion. Passing along in the spectrum, bluish-green appears, 
called peacock. Blue takes its place. A slightly reddish 
blue follows (violet) and with a somewhat more reddish 
blue (purple) the spectrum fades away. 

An interesting and notable fact is the absence from this 
spectrum of anything that the Other-One would call a pure 
red, that is, a red being neither in the least yellowish nor in 
the least bluish. Neither does nature's spectrum, the rain- 
bow, contain all the colors of nature, altho it may be said 
to contain nearly all of them. This red, lacking in the 
spectrum, can be produced easily enough on the color 
wheel. Just add to scarlet (which is a slightly yellowish 
red) a small sector of blue, enough to cancel the yellow- 
ishness of the scarlet without adding any bluish tinge. 

There being four excitations in the two ''color" sub- 
stances (not counting here the Black-White substance), 
there must occur, in the Other-One's life, occasions in each 
of which he will not need more than a single one of the 
four color names invented to suit those four excitations. 
But there will also be occasions in each of which he will 
need two color names. One can represent this fact graph- 
ically by a square (this square appears incidentally on the 
right in the following figure) of which the four corners 
stand for the four color names when used alone, and the 
four sides stand for the four possible pairs of color names, 
red-yellow, yellow-green, green-blue, and blue-red. That 
the two pairs red-green and blue-yellow are impossible 
color names, we have already learned in discussing the fact 
of antagonism. 

The color square suggests a principle of classifying all 
the colors, that is, all the colored things of nature, by divid- 
ing them into those standing at the corners -of the square 
^nd those standing at the sides between the corners. We 



284 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHEE-OISrE 

thus obtain the two groups of the ''singular'' colors (re- 
quiring only a single color name) and the ''dual'' colors 
(requiring a double color name). As we distinguish in the 
grammar of many languages a singular, a dual, and a plural, 
so we might feel inclined to suggest to the Other-One to 
use also plural color names. But he has no use for them, 
because of the fact that the four excitations fall into two 
pairs of antagonistic excitations. This fact prevents any 
three of the four from ever occurring at the same moment 
in the same retinal cell. And of course, it also prevents 
all four from thus occurring. Thus, there can be in the 
Other-One's world only singular colors and dual colors, 
and no plural colors. He speaks to us only of four singu- 
lar colors and of four classes of dual colors, each of these 
classes of dual colors containing infinitely many tints. 

It is interesting to note in this connection that only the 
names of the singular colors are of such ancient origin that 
absolutely nothing can be said of it except that these names 
must have their source in elementary biological needs. All 
other color words of the dictionaries, other than red, yel- 
low, green, and blue, have an etymological history. That 
is, they meant something else, a fruit, a flower, an animal, 
a mineral, and the like, before they came to mean a color. 
Think of orange, olive, violet, peacock, maroon as ex- 
amples. In some cases this is not so obvious, but never- 
theless true. Purple seems to have no meaning other than 
color. But it is actually an ancient corruption of the name 
of the mollusc which the Phoenicians collected in order to 
extract a bluish-red pigment. 

If we want to represent in a graph that part of the 
Other-One's color nomenclature which is indispensable as 
soon as w^e include also bright and dark discrimination, we 
need a graph of three dimensions. The two dimensions of 



SINGULAR AND DUAL COLORS 285 

the color square are insufficient because the one co-ordinate 
represents the Red-Green substance and the other co- 
ordinate the Blue-Yellow substance. We need a third co- 
ordinate to represent the Black-White substance. 

The simplest body to include all the three-dimensional 
color names (''color'' in the broader sense, including white 
and black) is a regular octahedron. (A detailed study of 
the Other-One's color nomenclature would lead us to pre- 
fer a somewhat less regular, tho similarly shaped body. 
But in this book there is no room for these details.) Why 
is it an octahedron, that is, a body that tapers ofif into a 



^teMnxr Q^i<£ (i - ^- f j - - ^ ^jm^v 






THE VISUAL. EXCITATIONS EXHIBITED IN AN OCTAHEDRON. 

point whenever we proceed from the origin of the co- 
ordinates in any one of the six directions? In the left 
octahedron of the figure we see why this must be so for 
proceeding toward Red or Green. An ''intense" or "fully 
saturated" red is never excessively bright or excessively 
dark. Therefore, in increasing its reddishness, we limit 
the available space between White and Black until we end 
in the very point marked Red. The same statement holds 
for Green. 

And also, as we saw in the spectrum, the more we con- 
fine ourselves to the neighborhood of the Green point, the 
less there can be of the excitations Yellow or Blue, for the 
Green point is the very division point of the spectrum be- 
tween these two excitations. The same can be said of the 



286 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

Red point if we think of the spectrum as a ring in which 
the right and the left end are joined in a single point of the 
ring. 

In the octahedron standing in the center we see why the 
color body tapers if we proceed from the origin of the co- 
ordinates in either the direction Yellow or Blue. The more 
saturated a yellow or blue, the less chance there is in the 
Other-One's experience for its being excessively bright, 
dark, red, or green. 

The octahedron on the right shows that the body tapers 
when we rise above or submerge below the ''color square." 
An excessively bright or excessively dark object never ap- 
pears reddish, yellowish, greenish, or bluish, or in any dual 
coloring. So much for the fact of experience. However, 
any reason for this fact, any theoretical explanation, can- 
not be given either very convincingly or in very simple 
terms. We therefore pass over it.. 

This octahedron (or a more irregular, but similarly 
shaped body which may take its place) is usually referred 
to, for purely historical reasons, as the "color pyramid." 

We pointed out, in the preceding chapter, that the three 
visual substances, which are represented in the three di- 
mensions of our octahedron, have their natural geometrical 
representation in the three ''zones" of the retina. Nature, 
introducing the Black-White substance in the eye, spread it 
out over the region called the retina. The Blue-Yellow 
substance was introduced much later in evolution, and Na- 
ture, it seems, has not yet found the time to spread it, from 
the center in a radial direction, farther than the peripheral 
limits of the intermediate zone. And the Red-Green sub- 
stance has not yet been spread by Nature beyond the limits 
of the central disk. Only in this central region, therefore, 
does the Other-One possess the three visual substances 



EVOLUTION^ OF THE, VISUAL EXCITATIONS 287 

represented in the octahedron. In the surrounding zone 
he is ''color-bHnd'^ in the ordinary meaning of this term ; 
that is, he has no Red-Green discrimination. And in the 
peripheral zone he has no frequency discrimination of Hght 
whatsoever. 

We also understand why the ordinary type of color- 
blindness, discussed already in the preceding chapter, con- 
sists in the lack of the Red-Green (and not in the lack of 
the Blue- Yellow) discrimination. It seems logical that in- 
dividuals lacking an evolutionary character of the race, 
should be more likely to lack a character lately acquired 
by the race than a character older and, as stands to reason, 
more firmly established. 

A few color terms which we hear the Other-One use 
after he has gone thru certain occupations common in 
human society, should still be mentioned. 

''Complementary" is the name given to any two colors 
which can be mixed so that the result is ''colorless," that 
is, neither reddish, nor yellowish, nor greenish, nor blu- 
ish. The name has an historical origin, referring to the 
fact that colorless compound light, like sunlight, can be 
physically split in infinitely many ways into pairs of colored 
light, and that any two "twins" of this kind can again be 
physically combined into the "complete" light, that is, the 
unsplit and colorless light. ("Complementary" is derived 
from the word "complete," not from compliment.) 

There is no scientific relation whatsoever between com- 
plementariness and antagonism. The former is a physical, 
the latter a biological term. The only and fortuitous rela- 
tion between these terms consists in the fact that one of the 
many pairs of complementary lights of the physicist looks 
like the one pair of singular colors, yellow and blue. It 
is especially important to remember that there is no pair 



288 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE, OTHER-ONE 

of complementary lights which looks like the other pair 
of singular colors, red and green. If one light looks like 
the singular color red, its complementary light would look 
like the dual color bluish-green. And if one light looks like 
the singular color green, its complementary light would look 
like the dual color bluish-red. 

Sometimes we hear the Other-One speak of certain 
groups of colors as ''primary, principal, fundamental, or 
original'' colors. All these terms are entirely dispensable 
for the psychologist, to whom the distinction between singu- 
lar and dual colors is the only one needed. But naturally, 
if the psychologist were pressed to tell his idea of the Other- 
One's ''primary, principal, fundamental, and original," as 
distinguished from the Other-One's "secondary and de- 
rived," color experiences, the psychologist could do nothing 
but call his four singular colors primary, etc., and the dual 
colors secondary, etc. 

But the technologist, the man engaged in industrial color 
work, such as color photography, color printing, etc., would 
find an entirely different group of colors most interesting, 
that is, most primary, principal, fundamental, and original, 
to him. In technology the chief problem is to find the 
smallest numbers of colors (that is, usually, pigments) 
which can be mixed in such varying manners that all the 
tints of nature as well as a colorless impression may re- 
sult. The smallest number fulfilling this condition is three. 
There are, however, infinitely many "triplets" of colors 
fulfilling this condition. Among them the technologist usu- 
ally, but not always, uses scarlet, violet, and green, be- 
cause of certain advantages with respect to the saturation 
of the resulting tints. These three then are to him his chief 
or "primary" colors. 



TECHNOLOGICAL COLOR, CLASSIFICATION'S 289 

A simple method of finding a triplet fulfilling these tech- 
nological conditions consists in selecting two singular, but 
not antagonistic colors,, and adding that dual color which 
resembles the two singular colors left out. For example, 
blue, red, and yellowish-green. It is then easy to demon- 
strate that this triplet fulfills all the conditions. From 
yellowish-green we easily get, by adding some blue, the 
singular color green; and also, by adding some red, the 
singular color yellow. Having then all singular colors, we 
can easily get, by combining them, all possible tints and 
al"so the colorless impressions. But all such triplets of 
colors, we must not forget, are of importance only in 
technology, not in psychology. 

The artist, the painter, again has a different notion as 
to what colors are ''primary, principal, fundamental, and 
original" to him. The painter would like to have as many 
different pigments handy on his palette as there is room 
for, since this facilitates his work. But the space on the 
palette is limited, and having to buy and store away many 
tubes or cakes is inconvenient and uneconomical. So he 
tries to restrict himself to buying a limited number of pig- 
ments. He rarely, if ever, restricts himself to less than 
six. So the Other-One, having asked a painter what his 
''primary'' colors are, without which he would not care to 
begin any painting, is quite likely to have heard that there 
are six primary colors. To the psychologist this is of very 
little interest. 

Everything that we have said in the preceding chapters 
about antagonism, general adaptation, successive induction, 
and simultaneous induction, applies to Red and Green with 
proper modification as it applied to Blue and Yellow. And 
it applies, with the exception of antagonism, even to Dark 
and Bright. 



290' PSYCHOLOGY OF THEl OTHER-ONE 

There are innumerable other facts which we might dis- 
cuss, concerning the Other-One's observed behavior of giv- 
ing this or that name or significance to this or that situa- 
tion to which his eyes are exposed. We select only one 
to mention here, the fact of ''positive after-images/' A 
color reaction of the Other-One due to successive induc- 
tion is often called a ''negative after-image" because the 
induction stimulus causes the Other-One to give the 
"image," that is, the object seen, "afterwards" a name 
which is "negative" in the sense of being due to antag- 
onism or to the opposition of darkness and light. What, then, 
is a positive after-image? 

It happens that the Other-One calls the object, "after" 
it has disappeared from its former place in the field of 
vision, by "the same" name, implying its continued and 
unchanged existence. For example, we notice that the 
Other-One does this when he looks at the setting sun and 
then turns his head away ; or when the stimulus is the glow- 
ing filament of an electric light bulb. He tells us that the 
sun or the glowing filament seems to be still present. 

The positive after-image is in one respect the opposite 
of "general adaptation." In general adaptation the excita- 
tion ceases before the stimulation ceases. But in the case 
of a positive after-image, the excitation outlasts the stimu- 
lation. - rj if 

The stimulus must always be very strong if it is to cause 
a positive after-image; or, if not very strong, very pro- 
longed. A weak stimulus gives only a negative after-image. 
A strong stimulus, however, gives both. The positive after- 
image is always followed by a negative after-image. Some- 
times the Other-One tells us that that negative after-image 
which follows a positive after-image, might more properly 
be given the name of a "flight of colors." 



AFTER-IMAGES 291 

The three visual substances, when strongly disturbed by 
intense stimulation, seem to pass thru a sort of ''see-saw- 
ing" process before regaining their quietness. The Black- 
White substance see-saws thru an alternate prevalence of 
the Dark excitation and the Bright excitation; and the 
two color substances see-saw thru an alternation of recom- 
position and decomposition. But the lengths of the periods 
of see-sawing are different for the three substances. The 
total result is a combination of excitations which varies 
from moment to moment, and in which it is difficult to find 
any orderliness. To it the Other-One is apt to find it im- 
possible to react otherwise than by simply calling it a flight 
of colors. 

The phenomena of adaptation and after-images may be 
written in their logical relations in the following form. 

General Adaptation 
Unocal Adaptation — Simultaneous Induction 

Successive Induction — Negative After-Imagery 
Positive After-Imagery 

The terms which, in the above form, stand side by side 
on the same level, are simply synonymous. The terms 
which stand directly above and below each other are thus 
placed to indicate that their relationship consists merely in 
the fact that the one suggests the other logically. 

It may appear strange to us that Nature should have 
chosen the visual substances and the excitations within them 
in such a manner as to call forth these "wasted reactions,'' 
the color illusions described. But an excuse for Nature is 
the fact that these illusions are not as common in the Other- 
One's life as they appear to be from a theoretical study 
like this. They depend for their full development at any 
moment on a restful position of the eyes which is but rare- 
ly realized outside of the scientific laboratories where it is 



292 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE, OTHEll-0:t^E 

Specially fostered. Nature has overcome the difficulty 
created by the possibility of color illusions by making the 
eyes such movable and extraordinarily restless organs as 
they are. 



CHAPTER XIII 

Thd Other-One: is Equipped with a Sense Organ 
ParticuIvAri^y Suited to Signals. 

In a previous chapter we enumerated the most interest- 
ing reflexes. We found among them a group of special 
importance, the reflexes of signahng. The signaHng re- 
flexes are indispensable for social life. And we stated that 
the various species of animals had been equipped by Nature 
also with special reflexes enabling them to respond prop- 
erly to these signals coming from other individuals of the 
same species or of a different species. 

A reflex, we know, presupposes a chain of nervous con- 
ductors leading from a definite sensory point to a definite 
motor point. But it also presupposes that this motor point 
is properly equipped with a motor organ. And it further 
presupposes that the sensory point is adequately equipped 
with a sense organ. 

We learned that in general the most efficient signals are 
acoustic signals. We therefore ask, now, what Nature has 
done in order to enable animals to respond properly to 
acoustic signals. When the acoustic signals are complex 
and the proper reflex (or habit) response depends on con- 
densation of the nervous functioning called forth by a 
multiplicity of acoustic signals, we speak of ''perception," 
and here customarily of ''auditory perception.'' We can, 
therefore, repeat our last question in the following form: 
How has Nature equipped that sense organ upon which the 
Other-One's social reflexes particularly depend, that sense 
organ which serves the Other-One's auditory perceptions, 
his "auditory organ" or, briefly, ear ? 

(293) 



294 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

An acoustic signal is a trembling motion of an object 
capable of causing in the elastic medium surrounding it 
(air or water) a periodic density change. It is one of the 
laws of physics that a periodic density change will then oc- 
cur, after a very short time, also at any other place within 
the elastic medium, provided the distance of this other 
place is not excessive. 

Nature's first problem then consisted in modifying the 
skin of animals living' in water or air so that density 
changes, that is, pressure changes, of the water or air could 
very easily bring about in sensitive cells chemical changes, 
— excitations. The so-called lateral-line organs of the fishes 
are such modifications of the skin. 

However, the pressure changes acting ordinarily on the 
lateral-line organs of the fishes are still very great in com- 
parison with the pressure changes which we call sound, 
caused by minute trembling motions of objects at distances 
often very considerable. Nature found that a sense organ 
of extraordinary sensitiveness could be constructed by let- 
ting the sensitive cells end in fine hairs and by exposing 
these hairs in such a manner that the slightest pressure 
changes in the medium surrounding the animal would ef- 
fect a bending of these hairs. 

A very simple sense organ of this kind is a cavity, located 
within the animal's body or near its surface, having a fur- 
like lining and being filled, of course, with the common 
fluid of the animal, with lymph. Our figure shows two 
views of such a cavity. In the left part of the figure the 
hairs are all in the normal condition, straight. At the left 
is a density wave approaching. It has already reached the 
interior of the animal, but not yet the cavity in question. 
The right part of the figure shows the effect on the hairs of 
the passage of the density wave thru the cavity. The wave 



A SENSE ORGAN FOR ACOUSTIC SIGNALS 



29e5 



is not likely to pass thru the lymph of the cavity with the 
same velocity with which it passes thru the substance of 
which the wall of the cavity consists. The velocity may be 
greater or less. That depends on the physical conditions 
of the animal's anatomy. What is important for us to keep 
in mind is merely that the velocity is not likely to be the 
same. 

In our figure the velocity in the lymph is supposed to be 
greater. The wave surface has advanced in the lymph 
farther to the right than in the wall of the cavity. The 
particles of the substance have been pushed together and 
the hairs between them have had to follow, bending to the 
right. Of course, the bending is exaggerated in the figure. 
Behind, that is, to the left, just the opposite is observable 
at this moment. The particles of the wall are being pushed 





^lUiiO//^ 



AN EARLY STAGE IN THE EiVOLUTION OF THE AUDITORY ORGAN. 

together, into greater density. The roots of the hairs are 
here farther to the right than their tips. That is, the hairs 
are bent to the left. It is worth mentioning that this kind 



296 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

of ''hair organ'' not only can be very sensitive to small 
density changes, but also is capable of being affected no 
matter in what direction the density waves pass thru the 
cavity, since the ''fur lining" covers all walls of the cavity 
and is thus equally exposed in all directions. 

The Other-One's "ear," we shall presently learn, is much 
more complicated than such a hair lined cavity. But the 
essential features of this simple hair organ are present 
wathin it. There can be no doubt that the Other-One's 
ear, while functioning in a far more complicated manner, 
in accordance with the purposes of its anatomical struc- 
tures, functions at the same time in this primitive man- 
ner described. The complicated function, that is, does not 
preclude the primitive function. And when the Other-One, 
in the course of a disease, loses the more delicate and com- 
plicated functions of his auditory organ, he may still retain 
the organ's capacity for this primitive function. Many 
strange observations about the hearing of people who are 
hard of hearing or almost deaf, become thus understand- 
able. 

This primitive "hair organ" was further developed by 
Nature in the following manner. The cavity was enlarged. 
The "fur lining" was removed from the wall and floated 
within the cavity, not quite freely however, but attached 
to the walls in such a way as to form a sort of partition 
dividing the cavity into two rooms. To each of these 
rooms a window was given. These windows open upon 
a tunnel which leads out into the surrounding medium, the 
water or air in which the animal lives. But the distance 
from the outer air (or water) to one of these windows, 
both marked \A^ in the figure, is somewhat greater than to 
the other window. The result is that the incoming den- 
sity wave never exerts its maximum pressure upon both 



THE EVOLUTION OF THE AUDITORY OEGAN 297 

windows at exactly the same moment, but first upon the 
one, later upon the other, and so on alternately. Conse- 
quently the lymph in the cavity is pushed now in the di- 




TWO UNSYMMETRICALLY LOCATED 
WINDOWS. 

rection from the one to the other, then from the other to 
the one, and so forth, alternately. This motion of the 
lymph, however, in this case, is not to be regarded as the 
kind of motion spoken of in the primitive organ, that is, 
as molecular motion within the lymph. Rather it is a mo- 
tion of the whole mass of the lymph, up and down in the 
figure. 

In a cross-section avoiding the windows the cavity with 
the partition within reappears in another figure. On the 
left of the figure the partition appears in its undisturbed 





THE BENDING OF THE HAIRS 
ON THE PARTITION. 



position, and on the right of the same figure it appears 
bent down (exaggeratedly, of course, in the drawing). A 
kind of very delicate membrane (maybe a mass of threads 
like a brush rather than a membrane) is fastened to one 
side of the wall and touches the hairs so that their tips ad- 
here to it somewhat firmly. It is immediately clear, then, 
that the partition can not be pushed up and down by the 



298 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

moving lymph without causing a bending of the hairs, 
which are rooted in the partition and have their tips in 
the upper, brush-Hke, membrane. 

We thus understand the ''second method" of function- 
ing of the Other-One's auditory organ. Again it depends 
on a bending of the hairs of the sensitive cells. The great- 
er sensitiveness of the organ is secured by doing away with 
the necessity of the density wave passing thru the substance 
of the animal's body. Instead, the wave is led thru a 
passage, or tunnel, as we said, to the two unsymmetric- 
ally located windows. There is less loss of energy in the 
passage thru the tunnel than in the passage thru the body 
substance, and accordingly this second method of function- 
ing of the organ must be regarded as an improved, less 
primitive, more developed one. 

It is clear that for this second form of functioning much 
depends on the flexibility of the two windows. These win- 
dows should be protected against intruders like small para- 
sites living on the surface of the animal and capable of 
entering the tunnel. And in animals living in the air, like 
the Other-One, the windows should be protected also 
against the drying effect of the outer air. Nature, there- 
fore, has closed the tunnel with a membrane, the ''ear 
drum" or "tympanum." The tympanum happens to be 
slightly funnel-shaped. But this shape is not very essential. 
That the protection afiforded by the tympanum to the Other- 
One's "windows" of the inner, lymph-filled cavity is very 
important, is proved by much clinical experience concern- 
ing the results of a breaking of the tympanum. 

Would it not occur to you, having the Creator's power, 
that you might now 'utilize this drum, created merely for 
protective purposes, for the transfer of the sound energy 
directly to one of the windows? The advantage result- 



SECONDARY USE, OF THE PROTECTIVE DRUM 299 

ing would be that the amount of energy usable would no 
longer be limited by the amount of asymmetry in the loca- 
tion of the two windows relative to the tunnel. The trans- 
fer of the energy is easily accomplished by means of any 
kind of solid object attached both to the drum and to one 
of the windows. In the birds and lower vertebrates this 
solid is a simple slender rod, sometimes with a triangular 




rod !■■ 



< 






US£; OF THE PROTECTIVE DRUM FOR A SECONDARY 

PURPOSE. 

opening as seen in the figure. In the mammals it consists 
of three little jointed bones, the ''auditory ossicles.'' One 
of them looks very much like a stirrup and is therefore 
called the ''stirrup.'' Its plate is attached to one of the 
windows, the "oval window." The ossicle forming the 
middle Hnk of the chain is called the "anvil" because it 
faintly resembles an anvil in shape. The third ossicle, 
which is attached to the drum, resembles a hammer still 
more faintly than the second can be said to resemble an 
anvil. It is called hammer chiefly because a thing acting 
on an anvil seems to deserve the name "hammer." 

Thus there is a "third method" of functioning of the 
Other-One's auditory organ. It differs from the other two 
by including the function of the chain of ossicles located 
in the air-filled cavity of the "middle ear," which is the 
name given to the space between the drum and the win- 
dows. From what we have said it is clear that the function- 
ing of the sense organ does not absolutely depend on the 
existence of the drum and the ossicles. Indeed, even when, 
as in a normal condition of the Other-One, they exist free 



300' 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THE, OTHER-ONE 



from all impediments, their significance seems to be the 
less, the greater the frequency of the sound waves acting 
on the sense organ. When the frequency is high, and the 
waves are therefore of small length (a few inches only), 
and the asymmetry difference of the windows is an ap- 
preciable fraction of the wave length, the ossicles are hard- 
ly needed. But for the lower tones, where the frequency 
is small and the wave length great, the mediating action of 
the drum and the ossicles seems to add much to the effici- 
ency of the organ. 

If you now examine the sense organ created, you dis- 
cover that it might be improved still further. 

Think of a fox whose ear is struck at the same time by 
the whistling of the wind and the cackling of a fowl. If he 
needs food, he ought to react negatively localizing the high 
tones of the wind and positively localizing the lower tones 
of the fowl. Or think of a dog whose ear is struck at the 
same time by the roaring of a lion and the much higher 
voice of his master. You cannot fail to notice the advan- 
tage which must result to the dog from the ability to per- 
form both reflex responses at the same time, to run away 




ONE SENSORY POINT SERV- 
ING SEVEFJAL MOTOR POINTS 
OR EACH ONE SEPARATELY. 



from the lion, but in the direction of his master rather than 
in any other direction which might also lead away from the 
lion. 



FEEiQUENCY OF JERKS 301 

In accordance with what we have already learned it must 
be emphasized that this ability, in general, by no means 
requires that both excitations originate in distinct sensory 
points. They might originate in one point. We have con- 
vinced ourselves previously that the neurons, at least some 
of the neurons of every animal, possess a specific (spe- 
cifically low) resistance. iVs a result of it two excitations 
originating in the same sensory point, say Sab in our fig- 
ure, may become separated, say at S%b, and may be con- 
ducted, further on, each virtually over its own path, one 
to Ma, the other to Mb. 

But it seems nevertheless necessary, in the case of the 
auditory excitations, since these depend for their distinctive 
qualities on the frequency with which the sensitive hair cells 
are disturbed, that of two kinds of auditory excitations 
originating during the same time the one must spring from 
one sensitive cell (or group of such cells) disturbed with 
one frequency, and the other excitation from another sen- 
sitive cell disturbed with another frequency. Why? — 
Simply because there is no concrete meaning in saying that 
a body trembles with two or more frequencies of jerks at 
one time. The total number of jerks during the unit of 
time is the frequency with which it trembles ; and there is 
only one such total number. 

If there must by necessity be during the same time an- 
other frequency of trembling causing another excitation, 
this must be caused to happen in another sensitive cell. 

But at some later time the other frequency of trembhng 
may very well happen in the same, first, cell. Each of the 
sensory points may have — at different times — any one of 
the thousands of possible auditory excitations aroused with- 
in it; it all depends on the frequency with which the sen- 
sitive cell happens to be jerked about at the moment. 



302 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-OlSrE 

Fortunately Nature's task of equipping the auditory cells 
is simplified by the limited need for localization reflex paths. 
In the eye every sensory point, we remember, has its own 
localizing reflex path. In the ear there are not thousands, 
but only two different localizing reflexes, one belonging to 
all the sensitive cells of the left ear in common, the other 
to all the sensitive cells of the right ear in common. This 
opens the way for easily assigning to any one sensory 
point a large number of reactions among the eight classes 
of fundamental reflex actions which we distinguished. 

Acting as the Creator's deputy, you now want to improve 
the auditory organ in such a manner that a compound den- 
sity wave acting on the windows will cause certain sen- 
sitive cells (located, we know, in the ''partition" of the 
Ivmph-filled cavity) to be jerked about as many times as 
the frequency of the highest component tone, other cells 
as many times as the frequency of the lower component 
tone, and other cells with still lesser frequency if there are 
still further physical components. 

All that you have to do in order to bring this about is to 
lengthen that lymph-filled cavity. You must stretch it, 
change its shape from that of a sack-like cavity into a kind 
of tube, at one end of which the windows are located, and 
stretch, of course, the partition also lengthwise thru the 
tube. The reason for stretching the cavity and changing 
it into a tube is no other than that of obliging the density 
change of the external medium to spread its effect more or 
less over the partition, that is, over further or fewer sen- 
sitive cells, according as the density change of the com- 
pound sound wave happens to be vigorous or faint at each 
moment. In the more primitive, sack-like cavity virtually 
all the cells are at every moment indiscriminately under 
the influence of the external density change. Now, in the 



ELONGATION^ OF THE CAVITY AN^D ITS PARTITION 303 

tube, at any infinitely small moment, some are and some are 
not under this influence, and at another moment others are 
and others are not. 

Some fifty years ago curious reasons were believed to 
have been Nature's purpose in stretching out the cavity 
and its partition. For example, it was believed that Nature 
had thus developed the partition into a sort of layer of 
harp strings or grand piano strings on which the sound 
wave could then ''play by resonance" as you can play on 
the piano strings, without touching them, if you merely 
step on the pedal and, having previously raised the lid, sing 
or speak into the box. The piano then sings or speaks 
back. Thus the Other-One's ''ear,'' it was said, takes up 
the sound and speaks, not back, but to the Other -One's 
nervous system. 

The more plausible reason for the stretching of the cavity 
and partition — simply in order to extend the sensitive sur- 
face of the organ in the direction away from the windows, 
that is, from the nearest possible point of attack — was 
first given by the French otologist, Pierre Bonnier, to whom 
belongs the honor of suggesting this idea altho he never 
showed in detail the consequences for auditory perception 
of this stretching of the sense organ. We then have here 
the ''fourth method" of functioning of the Other-One's 
auditory organ. 

There are various ways of showing in a graph a com- 
pound sound curve. Our figure shows such a curve of 
density changes in the air produced by two (let us re- 
member "two") musical instruments of which one causes 
two "waves" while the other causes three during the same 
time unit, a small fraction of a second. 

There are also various ways of showing in a graph the 
shape which the partition, seen in section lengthwise, as- 



304 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 



sumes at the moments whenever the sound curve shows a 
maximum or minimum of air pressure. The next figure 
gives us one sample graph (reproduced from the writer's 
'^Mechanics of the Inner Ear/' U. of Mo., 1907) which 
corresponds to the sound curve of the preceding figure. 
The dotted Hne represents the place where the partition 
would be found while nothing at all was going on. If the 
motion of the lymph in the double tube-Hke cavity is to- 
ward the oval window (the stirrup window), the parti- 
tion yields upwards until it becomes so tightly stretched 
that it will go no farther up. This limit is of course shown 
in the figure with great exaggeration. If the motion of the 

30—- 
24 [- 

132— 




6 C D E F 

TWO SERIES OF SOUND WAVES COMPOUNDED. 



lymph is toward the other window (the so-called round 
window) the partition behaves in the same manner down- 
wards. 



THE COMPOUND WAVE SPREADS OVER THE PARTITION 305 



It is important, however, to keep always in mind that, 
whenever a reversal occurs, a lowering of the air pres- 
sure instead of a rising or vice versa, the piece of the parti- 
tion which reacts first to the reversal is that near the win- 
dows ; and only when this piece will yield no further to 
the onrush of the fluid, will a further piece of the partition 
yield, always proceeding in this manner from the left to 
the right, no matter whether the partition goes up or down. 



B 
C 

D 

£ 

r 

G 



11 



19 24i 30 



: 



AN APPROXIMATE IJEPRESENTATION OF WHAT 
HAPPENS TO THE PARTITION. 

This must naturally so occur in accordance with the physi- 
cal law that every motion occurs with the least possible ex- 
penditure of energy both in shifting the masses and in over- 
coming internal friction. And we remember that for this 
very purpose of extending the effect to a distance from the 
windows which is the greater, the greater the pressure 
change, the cavity and the partition have been stretched 
out in the direction away from the windows. 

Now, at A in the last figure we find in the upper limit 
an initial piece of the partition — thirty units in length, let 
us assume. We find this piece in the upper limit because 
the density change represented in the preceding figure has 
occurred periodically many times already. We do not con- 
sider at all the more complicated changes occurring in the 



306 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE, OTHER-ONE 

partition at the very beginning of the sound, since they 
interest us much less. 

From the time A to the time B there is a pressure in- 
crease in the air of 24^ units. At the moment B, accord- 
ingly, we find an initial piece of the partition 24j^ units 
long in the lower limit. 

From B to C the pressure decreases 24^ to 13}^, that 
is, by 11 units. We therefore find at the moment C an 
initial piece of the partition 11 units long in the upper 
limit. 

From C to D there is a pressure increase from 13^ to 
16^, that is, by 3 units. We therefore find at the moment 
D an initial piece of the partition 3 units long in the lower 
limit. The piece directly following on the right is drawn 
as being still in the upper limit in which it was at C. It 
can hardly have changed its position appreciably, since no 
force has been acting on it meanwhile. The next piece, 
following on the right as far as the mark 24^, is drawn 
as being still in the lower limit in which it was at B. The 
following piece is still in the upper limit as at the moment 
A. And the continuation of the partition farther to the 
right is unchanged since this sound wave is presumed to be 
not strong enough to affect it. 

From D to E there is a pressure decrease of 11 units. 
Accordingly, 11 units of the partition are sucked up. This 
upward movement, then, is what happens to the first three ; 
but the eight following (from 3 to 11) are already up. 
These eight are therefore left where they are, and eight 
more (from 11 to 19) are sucked up from their lower 
position at D to an upper position at E. Those pieces of 
the partition which follow on the right (from the mark 
19 to the right) simply remain each in that position in 
which it was at the moment D. No force has acted on 
them meanwhile. 



FKEQUENCY OF JERKS 307 

From the moment E to the moment F the air pressure 
increases from 5^ to 30, that is, by 24^ units. Accord- 
ingly, so many units of the partition are pushed down, — 
the initial ones, that is those near the windows, first, the 
others soon afterwards. First those from the mark zero 
to the mark 19 are pushed down, then those from the mark 
lAYz to the mark 30. 

From F to G the pressure falls 30 units. Thirty units 
of the partition are sucked up. At G we find these thirty 
units therefore in exactly the same position in which we 
found them at the start, at A. 

Let us not forget, now, that this graph shows us only in 
certain general outlines what goes on in the partition. The 
finer details of this occurrence have been sacrificed to the 
need of a first understanding of that which is most es- 
sential. 

Looking down the ''columns,'' so to speak, of the last 
figure, we count in each column how many times the sen- 
sitive cells of that part of the partition have been jerked 
down and up. In the initial section we count 3 such jerks,, 
in a following section 2 jerks, and in a farther section of 
the partition only one jerk in the time unit from A to G. 

It is clear, then, that three classes of excitations take 
their origin from the ear and pass thru the nervous sys- 
tem in those directions where they find favorable condi- 
tions of resistance. What at first astonishes us is the fact 
that not only the excitations ''3" and ''2,'' which we ex- 
pected to find, but also the excitation 'T' are present. This, 
however, is entirely in accordance with the facts if we study 
the Other-One's auditory perceptions sufficiently in detail. 
If we sound two tuning forks, the Other-One will gen- 
erally tell us, provided he has enough training to answer 
our specific question, that he hears three different tones. 



308 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-OIsrE 

But what is most important is the fact that each of our 
tone stimuli, ''3'' and ''2/' produces its own excitation. If 
the effect of the sound wave had been confined to the small 
area of the partition in the primitive cavity, if it had not 
been spread over the partition lengthened within the tube, 
the three jerks conspicuous in the sound wave would have 
resulted in a single corresponding excitation ; and that 
would have been all. Several simultaneous excitations and 
several simultaneously determined reactions, like the dog's 
running away from the lion and toward his master, would 
have been impossible without this lengthening oi the sen- 
sitive surface. 

It will probably be of some interest even to the student 
who is not interested in the special problems of the function 
of the sense organs, to mention here a few of the secondary 
anatomical features which have resulted from the con- 
tinued lengthening of the tube containing the sensitive sur- 
tace. First, as the tube lengthened, it coiled up. Some 
explain this as due to a saving of space. But it is hard to 
see why the tube could not, on that account, find room in 
the thick bone of the base of the skull just as readily if 
it had grown along a straight line. It is a much more 
plausible argument that, in coiling up, the sensitive surface 
exposed itself to stimulation by the first mentioned, most 
primitive method more efficiently than if it had remained 
straight. Thus a sound wave passing thru the body can 
act on some part of the ^'fur lining" no matter in which 
direction the wave proceeds thru the three dimensions of 
space. Thus the advantage is regained which was im- 
paired when the ''fur lining," as we remember, was taken 
from the walls of the cavity. 

A second anatomical feature which easily arouses the 
student's interest is the fact that a kind of skeleton, look- 



l^ECULiAEITIES OF THE AUDITORY OEGAK" . 309 

ing in cross section like two pillars falling against each 
other and forming an arch between the sensitive cells, 
was introduced when the tube became long. In the birds, 
in which the tube is not yet very long, these pillars are 
absent. In our figure of a cross section of the tube in 
the mammalian auditory organ these pillars are very con- 
spicuous. It is clear that, when the tube is very long, the 
initial sections of the partition near the windows undergo 
especially violent pressure changes. Such a skeleton, un- 
hecessary in the birds, becomes then desirable. And in 
the initial sections it ought to be especially stiff. So it is, 
for in the initial sections the pillars form a more acute 
angle than in the parts of the partition farther removed 
from the windows. 

A third feature? worth mentioning even in this brief 
discussion is the membrane which is stretched at a slight 
distance above that side of the partition on which the 
sensitive cells are placed. There is, of course, a consider- 
able motion of fluid unavoidably also lengthwise in the 
double tube. This acts by friction on the partition and 
fnight cause damage. On the side of the partition (the 
lower side in the figure) where there are no sensitive 
cells, no damage is to be feared. But on the other side 
special protection is needed and given by the rather big 
membrane which in the figure appears above, stretching 
from wall to wall of the tube. In a sense, then, we can 
give the name of ''the partition of the tube'' to everything 
between this upper membrane and the lower surface of 
the partition as hitherto spoken of. The partition in this 
new sense is then a kind of hollow wall carrying in its 
interior the delicate hair cells, their supports, and the ends 
of the sensory neurons. 



310 



PSYCHOLOGY OF THE, OTHER-ONE 




Let us once more state the four different methods of 
functioning of the auditory organ, beginning with the most 
primitive method and ending with the most developed one. 



FOUR METHODS OF FUI^CTIONING 311 

But let us keep in mind, now, that all these methods of 
functioning are possible and actually occur in the same 
auditory organ, the highly developed anatomical structure 
called the Other-One's ''ear'' ; that the possibility and ac- 
tual occurrence of the most highly developed functioning 
does not exclude, in the very same ear, the possibility and 
actual simultaneous occurrence of any of the more primi- 
tive forms of functioning. 

1. The Other-One's ear can function like a cavity lined 
with hair cells and exposed to any sound wave passing in 
any direction thru his body. 

2. The Other-One's ear can function like a cavity in 
which the hair cells are placed on a floating partition, there 
being a "window" on each side of the partition, and a 
tunnel leading the sound more directly to one window 
than to the other. 

3. The Other-One's ear can function Hke (2) with the 
difference that the sound waves are transported by means 
of a solid connection from a protective ''drum" in the 
tunnel to one of the windows. 

4. The Other-One's ear can function either like (2) 
or like (3) with the difference that the up or down motion 
produced in the partition is farther or less far extended 
over the greatly lengthened cavity and partition, according 
as each positive or negative change in the air pressure is 
more or less intensive. 

To the extent that pathological conditions interfere with 
any of these forms of functioning, the Other-One has to 
rely, and as a rule fortunately still can rely, on the others. 

We stated that Nature at the start equipped the auditory 
organ of animals with hairs, exposing them in such a 
manner that the slightest pressure changes in the medium 
surrounding the animal would effect a bending of these 
hairs. It has been shown some years ago by Emile ter 



312 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE, OTHER-ONE 

Kuile that in this most lately developed fourth form of 
functioning of the organ the hairs of the sensitive cells 
are bent back and forth. Our diagram shows these hairs 
indicated only by four short lines between two parallels. 
The upper parallel represents the fine brush-like membrane 
previously mentioned as touching the tips of the hairs. The 
lower parallel represents the surface formed by the sensi- 
tive cells in which these hairs are rooted. The sensitive 



HOW THE HAIKS OF THE HAIR CELLS AE'E BENT IN THE 

HUMAN EAR. 

cells themselves are not drawn in this diagram. But the 
''skeleton" supporting them, that is, the triangle formed by 
the two pillars, is shown, having its vertex, of course, in 
the lower one of the two parallels spoken of. The dia- 
gram shows how the hairs must bend when the two par- 
allels slide over each other in consequence of the partition 
being jerked out of one of its extreme positions into the 
other. It seems remarkable that in spite of all the changes 
which the anatomy of the auditory organ has undergone 
in evolution, the bending of the hairs still seems to be 
the most essential factor in stimulation. 

Having obtained, now, an elementary understanding of 
the functioning of that sense organ whose main purpose is 
the receiving of signals, we naturally turn in the next 
chapter to a discussion of the 'Vocal" organ by means 
of which the Other-One ordinarily transmits his signals. 



CHAPTER XIV 

The Othe:r-One:'s Talking Machinery. 

An acoustic signal is a periodic change of density in the 
air. In order to understand clearly the Other-One's signal- 
ing apparatus we must first of all impress upon ourselves 
the fact that such density changes in the air can be pro- 
duced either directly in the air itself, by friction suffered by 
a stream of air, or indirectly by a vibrating solid which 
beats the air periodically. Density changes of the latter 
origin are not only very regular (owing to the regularity 
of the vibration of such a solid), but also rather strong. 
Density changes caused directly in the air by friction (for 
example, the breathing noise) are generally both weak and 
irregular in a physical sense. 

But both kinds of density changes can be greatly 
strengthened and can also, if they were before irregular, 
aperiodic, be made regular, periodic, by the mediation of an 
air resonator. An air resonator is nothing but a volume of 
air almost entirely enclosed within a solid container, but 
communicating with the outer air thru an opening in the 
container. The smaller the enclosed volume of air, the 
greater the frequency of its proper density changes, or, as 
we say, the higher the tone. And the larger the opening, 
the higher the tone. However, the size of the opening must 
have a certain reasonable relation to the volume, or the 
resonance will be very weak. 

All these facts mentioned can be easily illustrated with 
ordinary musical instruments of the wood-wind type. In 
a flute the density changes in the air are caused directly by 

313 



314 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

the friction of a stream of air blown against a sharp edge; 
and the air volume in the flute resonates, that is, makes the 
density changes regular and strong. In an oboe or clarinet 
a reed (that is, a solid body) is caused to vibrate by blow- 
ing against it ; and again the air volume in the instrument 
resonates, causing the density changes to be still more 
regular and stronger than they would be if depending mere- 
ly on the manner of the vibration of the reed. 

We have mentioned in a previous chapter that animals 
are equipped with a class of reflexes which enable them to 
use their breathing apparatus, the lungs, also as a blowing 
apparatus for causing periodic density changes of high fre- 
quency in the air. The muscles serving these reflexes are 
the diaphragm and the muscles of the chest acting on the 
ribs. 

The blowing apparatus is thus comparatively simple, as is 
to be expected. The friction apparatus, which we have 
to discuss next, is more complex. And the resonating ap- 
paratus, which will be discussed last, is most complex. 

Our figure shows in its most essential features the pas- 
sages thru which, during the Other-One's vocal activity, 
the air has to take its path in or out. (There are, how- 
ever, but few languages on earth in which sounds> for 
signaling are produced by drawing the air in.) If the 
Other-One does not anywhere in these passages thru spe- 
cial muscular action obstruct the motion of the air, the 
friction is so slight that no sound is produced which de- 
serves to be called a speech sound (as in ordinary breath- 
ing). 

Obstruction can be caused easily in the larynx by stretch- 
ing the so-called vocal cords so that they leave less room 
between them. Obstruction can, secondly, be caused in 
many different ways, as appears clearly from the figure, by 
the muscles of the upper lip, the lower lip, the lower jaw, 



OBSTRUCTIOlSr IN LAEYKX OE MOUTH 



315 



the tongue, and the soft palate. For simpHcity's sake we 
may call the totality of all these latter organs ''the mouth." 
But there is one great difference between causing the 
necessary friction in the larynx and causing it anywhere 
in the mouth. It is the same difference which exists be- 
tween the oboe and the flute. 




THE MOUTH AND THE LARYNX FORMING THE HUMAN 

"OBOE." 

The parts constituting the mouth are not easily capable 
of vibrating, because they are virtually never, normally, 
under that tension which is physically necessary in order 
that a solid may vibrate. The motion of the air may be ob- 
structed, for exam.ple, by putting the lips together. But 
the lips do not then vibrate. The bugler may force them 
to vibrate, but only by pressing the mouthpiece of his bugle 
against them and thus giving them an artificial tension. 
Normally their tension is too weak for vibration. Or the 
motion of the air, to give another example, may be ob- 
structed by placing the tongue against the upper teeth or 
against the hard palate. There may then be much friction, 
but neither the teeth nor the palate can vibrate under such 



316 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

conditions. And if the tongue should vibrate, it does it 
with such a small frequency as to cause no sound of its 
own, but to add merely some roughness to a sound which 
originates elsewhere, as 'V and ''1." Therefore the fric- 
tion produced anywhere in the mouth is comparable to the 
friction in blowing a flute. There is no solid body which 
is blown against and which in consequence vibrates. 

But when the cushions of which the vocal cords form the 
most advanced edges narrow the opening in the larynx, 
they do that thru the very tension of the vocal cords. The 
case is then quite similar to that of the oboe. There the 
reed, which obstructs the air motion, vibrates when air is 
forced thru. Here the stretched vocal cords vibrate when 
air is forced thru. 

From what we have previously said it is clear, then, that 
whenever the air is obstructed in the mouth, the resulting 
sound is relatively weak; and whenever the air is ob- 
structed in the larynx, the resulting sound is relatively 
strong. The sounds of the first class are therefore called 
voiceless sounds and those of the second class voiced 
sounds. In more popular terminology, the production of 
the former (voiceless) sounds may be called whispering, 
that of the latter (voiced sounds) singing or ordinary loud 
speech. 

The existence of a great obstruction in the mouth, as in 
pronouncing ''s," precludes a sufficiently strong fall of the 
air pressure, on the passage from below the vocal cords up 
to above the vocal cords, to bring about vibration of the 
cords. But if the air is only moderately obstructed in the 
mouth, a certain amount of vibration of the vocal cords 
is simultaneously possible. We then have 'Voiced" speech 
sounds like "z, d, b, g, v, w.'' With a greater obstruction 
in the mouth and the then unavoidable failure of the vocal 
cords to vibrate, these sounds become the 'Voiceless" speech 
sounds ''s, t, p, k, f, wh." 



VOICED AND VOICELESS SOUT^DS 317 

It is but natural, then, that in whispering, if we define 
this as voiceless speech, the sounds ''z, d, b, g, v, w" are im- 
possible. They are indistinguishable from ''s, t, p, k, f , wh/' 
Ask the Other-One to whisper strongly, but really to whis- 
per, ''zeaF' and 'Veal," and they will sound like ''seal" and 
"feel." However, it must be emphasized here as nearly 
everywhere in phonetic discussions, that all distinctions are 
relative, that there are intermediate steps between the ex- 
treme of whispering and the extreme of voiced speech. 
In the so-called stage-whisper, for example, the distinction 
is possible. 

Of course, when we said that somewhere the passage of 
the air must be obstructed in order to cause "by friction" 
a sound, we did not wish to give the impression that this 
friction was one perfectly simple physical process incapable 
of variations. The friction may be a steady process, as in 
pronouncing "s" or "sh ;" or it may deserve the name, 
rather than that of friction, of an explosion or sometimes 
the reverse, a sudden choking, as in pronouncing "k" or 
"p" in the beginning or end of a syllable ; or it may be 
something between explosion and plain friction, like the re- 
peated weak explosions of "r" or "1," which, on account 
of their repetition, we do not recognize as explosions. 

Thus far we have been speaking of the sound only as it 
results exclusively from the friction which is caused by 
obstructing the passage of the air, forcefully expelled from 
the lungs, — with or without the aid of a vibrating solid 
body, that is, the vocal cords. We have not yet discussed 
the factor of resonance. 

But the variations of resonance are that very factor 
which makes "articulated" speech what it is. Without the 
manifold variations of resonance the Other-One would pos- 
sess virtually only (1) friction noises (a kind of whisper- 
ing, as we called it, but not "articulated" whispering) com- 



318 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

parable to the noise of steam escaping with more or less 
force from a boiler and (2) musical tones comparable to the 
song of birds. And he would use the one or the other ac- 
cording to circumstances, but hardly both simultaneously. 

A glance at our figure shows how easily a great variety 
of resonating air volumes can be formed, and — wha*" ^s 
especially important — not only a variety from moment to 
moment, but a variety of several air volumes at the same 
moment, a small volume here, a large volume there, each 
having its proper tone. Thus we understand the signifi- 
cance of the lengthening of the Other-One's auditory organ 
into a tube which we discussed in the preceding chapter, 
whereby different sensitive cells are enabled at the same 
time to be excited in different excitations. 

The tongue (t, in the figure) can be pushed forward to- 
ward the teeth or backward toward the soft palate (sp). 
It can be pushed up toward the hard palate (hp) or down, 
leaving little or much space between itself and the palate. 
The low^er jaw can be lowered, enlarging in any desired 
manner the mouth cavity and enlarging also the opening 
between the teeth. The lips can be arranged so that the 
mouth cavity is prolonged forward. The lips can also make 
the opening of the mouth of any desired size. The soft 
palate can be pushed backwards in order to close the com- 
munication between the upper and lower pharynx (uph 
and Iph) and exclude thus completely the nasal cavity 
(n) from acting as a resonator. On the other hand, the 
tongue can so well fill the mouth cavity that the pharynx 
and the nasal cavity alone serve as resonators. 

When the Other-One sings like a bird, that is, without 
pronouncing at the same time w^ords, he forms, more or 
less skilfully, one large resonating cavity of all those cavi- 
ties at his service. This one resonating cavity is then 
merely adjusted in accordance with the frequency of the 



SON^G' AND SPEECH 319 

vibrations of the vocal cords in the larynx (in front of the 
esophagus, e, in the figure). But in speech he forms numer- 
ous resonating cavities at the same time and locates the 
obstruction (or obstructions) wherever the resulting fric- 
tion will be near enough to the cavities to make them prop- 
erly resonate. It is clear, of course, that thus similar 
sounds or even identical sounds (that is, compound sounds 
consisting of the same components) can frequently be pro- 
duced by more arrangements within the vocal organs than 
one. The larger one of two simultaneous cavities may be 
located here and the smaller one there, or the smaller one 
here and the larger cavity there. The total sound might 
be about the same. It is important to understand this in 
order to avoid the needless differences of opinion which 
arise sometimes in phonetics as to whether a certain speech 
sound must be produced in one manner or in another. It 
might be produced in either manner equally well. 

To these several sounds caused by friction and reso- 
nance of the air cavities may then be added or may not be 
added the larynx tone. If the larynx tone is not added, 
we speak of articulated (''joined together") whispering. 
If it is added, but is not very strong and varies much, we 
hear the Other-One's normal loud speech. If the added 
larynx tone is overstrong, but still varies much, we call 
it shouting. If the added larynx tone is very strong, but 
held at constant pitch (vibration frequency) for a little 
while, to assume another constant pitch for a little while, 
and another constant pitch, we hear the singer's perform- 
ance, as in an opera or whenever the Other-One sings a 
song. 

What, now, is the difference between consonants and 
vowels? This is, perhaps, the first classification we learn 
in our earliest school life to make of different speech 
sounds. And yet it is a rather insignificant and almost 



320 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHEK-ONE 

superfluous classification. We learn that vowels are those 
speech sounds which may form a syllable (a syllable is that 
group of sound qualities which occurs between two sound 
minimums and has only one maximum) while occurring 
alone and unaccompanied by consonants, and that con- 
sonants (''by-sounds'' in the sense of accompanying sounds) 
are those sounds which never form a syllable while occur- 
ring alone, but must occur ''by'' a vowel. However, it is 
purely accidental that we do not in the English language 
have, for example, a syllable consisting purely of the voice- 
less sotmd "sh." There are other languages which have 
such syllables, and "sh" would then have to be called a 
vowel. This shows clearly enough the scientific irrelevancy 
of the distinction between English consonants and vowels. 

Psychologically interesting are all those cases where in 
speech the pronunciation of a sound is modified by the 
occurrence of another one just before or just after. It is 
but natural that, for example, the first syllable should be 
pronounced dififerently in the two words "do" and "doing," 
that the Other-One should in the latter case make the re- 
sonating cavities for the two syllables succeeding each other 
as much alike as this is possible without risk of being mis- 
'understood. This is so justifiable an economy that virtual- 
ly nobody fails to develop his speech habits in accordance 
with it. In the study of languages we discover innumerable 
examples of speech economy which have become so con- 
spicuous that they have found expression even in spelling. 

Lazy people, of course, will economize without much at- 
tention to the question whether the Other-One's under- 
standing becomes impaired thereby or not. It is all right to 
say "cupmsaucer" if the Other-One's native language is 
English and if he can almost guess what we are saying. 
But if he is a foreigner and not perfectly accustomed to 
English, and we want him to understand us, we should 
rather pronounce "cup — and — saucer." 



ECONOMY IN SPEEiOH 321 

But even lazy people sometimes get excited and may then 
expel the air from the lungs so forcefully that a mouth 
friction sound is heard in a word which does not possess the 
sound, but which word the excited speaker wishes to em- 
phasize, whereas in another word which he does not wish 
to emphasize he fails to produce, thru his laziness, the very 
friction sound which rightly belongs there. For example : 
Barber — The cholera is in the hair. Customer — Then you 
ought to be careful about the brushes you use. Barber — I 
didn't mean the air of the ead, but the hair of the hatmos- 
phere. 

When the Other-One is excited because you have told 
him that you are going to punish him, and he asks ''Why?" 
he will probably let the vow^el be preceded by the strong 
mouth friction sound ''wh.'' — But if you ask him if he 
wears a fur coat in summer, and he smilingly replies ''Why, 
nobody does that,'' he will probably pronounce the first 
sound as "w," with very little air friction in the mouth. 

The general features of speech in relation to personality 
have been well described by the Danish linguist Jespersen 
in the following brief paragraphs : 

"Every one has his own speech, differing from every 
other person's speech. This is true with respect to his 
vocabulary, his idioms, his syntax and his grammar ; but 
also with respect to his pronunciation. When we recognize 
a person by his 'voice,' that last term is not taken in the 
narrower meaning of 'larynx sound,' but in the broader 
meaning of his pronunciation as depending also on his pal- 
ate, tongue, teeth, lips, the elasticity of his cheeks, and 
even the muscular equipment of his breathing apparatus. 

"He who dissimulates his speech, pushes forward his 
lips, lowers his jaw, flattens his tongue, and so forth. 

"Very characteristic for a person's speech is also his 
tetppo of speaking and the greater or lesser precision in 



322 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

the execution of the movements of his vocal organs, on 
which the clarity, comprehensibility and beauty — or the op- 
posite — of his speech depend. 

''Tho every one has his individual speech, that speech 
varies from time to time according to the situations in 
which he finds himself, just as his facial expression changes 
from time to time. 

''In general it can be said that those who speak a com- 
mon language have something common in their pronuncia- 
tion. Consequently it is sometimes possible, when one hears 
spoken words from such a distance that the separate words 
are not recognizable, to tell nevertheless what language it 
is. 

''Thus, too, it is frequently possible to tell of what coun- 
try or part of a country a person is a native, even tho he 
speaks a foreign language, since he may not have freed 
himself from the characteristic peculiarities of his native 
tongue, but may unintentionally use them in the other lan- 
guage, speaking — as the popular phrase goes — with a 'for- 
eign accent.' In reality this is not alone a matter of ac- 
centuation, or perhaps least of all' a matter of accentuation, 
but rather a matter of moving his speech organs in the old 
accustomed way. 

"There is a kind of harmony among the motions of the 
vocal organs producing the several sounds of a particular 
language. For example, that language which pronounces 
't' with the tip of the tongue far back in the mouth, most 
likely pronounces also 'd' and 'n' with the tongue thus 
withdrawn. And if 'b' is strongly voiced, one may be al- 
most sure that 'd' and 'g' are also strongly voiced. Thus, 
in certain cases, one may learn to imitate the pronuncia- 
tion of a foreign language beyond the possibility of a dis- 
tinction by merely flattening quite generally the tongue, or 
pushing it forward or withdrawing it, by retarding all lip 
movements, and so forth. 



INDIVIDUAL AND NATIONAL SPEECH 323 

''In this sense it may be asserted that each language has 
its 'base of operations' in a particular region of the mouth, 
or that it has its particular 'pose' of the mouth organs. 
And just as the pronunciation of each individual represents 
and expresses the peculiarities of his personality, so the 
'mouth pose' of each language has a definite relation to the 
national character. Nevertheless, no more than such a 
national character is the 'mouth pose' of a language easily 
and clearly describable in terms of scientific value." 

It is customary to say that a child learns the language 
of his parents "by imitation." It is more correct to say 
that he learns it by imitative (reflex as well as habitual) 
actions. 

According to the usage of language any action deserves 
to be called imitative (or "an imitation") which repeats 
the stimulus, or at least produces something very much like 
that stimulus which gave rise to this action. 

We have agreed in this book to mean by a reflex or by 
an instinctive action about the same thing, that is, the func- 
tioning of one definite nervous path of the "short" and in- 
herited variety, a path which serves to place a perfectly 
definite motor point at the disposal of a perfectly definite 
sensory point. The motor "point" may be a "group" of 
muscles, and the sensory "point" may be a "group" of sen- 
sitive cells, and then we should prefer the phrase "instinc- 
tive action" to the word "reflex." But this distinction re- 
ferring to complexity or simplicity is a minor matter and 
really does not concern us at this moment. 

But while the functioning of a definite nervous path 
(that is, a reflex or instinctive action) can be called a 
"right-sided" action, if it occurs on the right side, or an 
"imitative" action, if it repeats the stimulus, never can the 
abstract noun "right-sidedness" or the abstract noun "im- 
itation" be called a reflex or instinctive action. An action 



324 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

is something concrete. Its functional basis in the nervous 
system is Hkewise something concrete. An abstraction can 
be used as the name of a concrete thing, but never can an 
abstraction be spoken of under the term standing for some- 
thing concrete, — tmless we are tired of logic and try our 
luck by playing with intentionally introduced confusions. 
As we said in a previous chapter that "right-sidedness is 
not in itself a reflex, but a peculiarity of some reflexes," 
so we must say here that imitativeness is not in itself a re- 
flex, but a peculiarity of certain reflexes. Saying that im- 
itation is an instinctive action would be like saying "crea- 
tion is a fish" because a codfi.sh is a creation. 

If we wish to express ourselves clearly, we shall be the 
clearer, the more frequently we speak concretely of this and 
of that special ''imitative action" (which may be native or 
acquired) and the less frequently w^e speak generalizingly 
of "imitation." There is absolutely nothing in the sub- 
stances or the functions of the nervous system w^hich can 
in any way be said to be correlative with the generalization 
(or abstraction) "imitation." 

Since speech imitating actions have led us to this discus- 
sion, we should, in order to make the matter still clearer, 
ask what kinds of imitative actions other than speech im- 
itating actions we find in the Other-One's life. In speech 
the Other-One reacts to sound and produces sound. This 
is auditory imitation. 

If a smell causes the Other-One to act so that a similar 
smell results, this is olfactory imitation. He does that, 
perhaps, as a perfumer's apprentice, journeyman or mas- 
ter perfumer. Fortunately nobody has given vent to his 
enthusiasm for the abstract terms "instinct" and "imita- 
tion" far enough to explain the perfumer's actions as due 
to his "instinct of imitation." 



ARE, THEEE IMITATIVE, INSTINCTS? 325 

If the Other-One reacts to a taste so that a similar taste 
results, that is gustatory imitation. It is a good guess, in 
that case, that his vocation is that of a cook. 

If the Other-One reacts to a kinesthetic excitation in 
such a manner that he reproduces the kinesthetic excita- 
tion, that then is kinesthetic imitation. Very hkely his 
vocation is that of a circus athlete. 

It is perfectly clear in the last as in the preceding cases 
that the imitation results from having obtained the knowl- 
edge that imitative actions are often useful, are often the 
basis of success, — success in a business, in a trade, in a 
skilful athletic performance, in what not. Nobody calls 
such a knowledge an instinct. 

Nobody imitates a smell instinctively. Does anybody im- 
itate a kinesthetic excitation instinctively? 

In an earlier chapter we have already had occasion to 
mention that many special circular reactions are inherited 
and may usually result from the kinesthetic excitation, re- 
sulting from one action, causing another action. If this 
kinesthetic excitation causes the same action from which 
it resulted, we have kinesthetic imitation. Does anybody 
inherit any kinesthetic imitative action? 

One might think that the inheritance of kinesthetic im- 
itative actions is almost self-evident from the fact that the 
sensory neurons of muscles and the motor neurons of the 
same muscles naturally run together in a single bundle, a 
nerve. But that is as accidental as running water pipes, 
gas pipes, sewer pipes, electric wires, and so forth to- 
gether in the same tunnel under a street or under a river. 
Within the central nervous system they separate and do 
not necessarily form ''short paths." They form ''reflex 
arches" only where the functional needs of the organism in 
evolution unite them, as in the case of all other sensory and 
motor neurons, 



326 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

As a matter of fact there seems to be very little inherited 
kinesthetic imitation ; maybe no more than olfactory and 
gustatory imitation, that is, none at all. We remember the 
case of the child learning to pile up blocks. There is im- 
itation in so far as the child seems to imitate a model (a 
block standing) by creating a thing like it, only bigger 
(one block upon another). But the stimulation is visual, 
not kinesthetic. And the imitation is at the start purely 
accidental, since the effective reflex, as we remember, is 
not in that case an imitative reflex, but is simply the visual 
localizing reflex. The child, with his hand already grasping 
a block, localizes another block by sight, and then drops 
his block on that location. 

Indeed, if a considerable amount of kinesthetic imitation 
were inherited, it would greatly retard the acquisition of 
useful habits of reaction. For example, the child, instead 
of learning how to build a house of blocks, would continue, 
thru the influence of such imitative actions, to move his 
hands up and down in the same manner without being in- 
fluenced by the fact that blocks other than the one in his 
hand are lying about. Kinesthetic imitative actions, if in- 
herited, would reduce man's biological significance in the 
world to something like that of mechanical toys in a child's 
world, capable only of performing the same jump in end- 
less repetition. 

Does anybody imitate a visual stimulation instinctively? 
There seems to be little evidence of special inherited re- 
flexes imitating visual stimulations. Neither do the earli- 
est learned movements seem to depend on visual imitation 
nor do the earliest imitative movements seem to be of the 
inherited type. The baby learns to creep, but — not by im- 
itation. He learns to stand up, but — not by imitation. He 
learns to walk, but — not by imitation. 



AUDITOEY IMITATION 327 

It IS only after he has acquired these skilful movements 
of his hands and feet, that visual imitative actions become 
conspicuous. Then only we observe that the little child, 
already able to walk, joins us when we are standing with 
our back against the wall and takes his place at our side, 
leaning his back likewise against the wall. Then only, after 
a year of experience in hand movements without any visual 
imitative actions whatsoever, does he begin to wave his 
hands in imitation of ours, to put on his hat when we put 
our hat on. Then he places an open book on the music 
stand of the piano before he strikes the keys with his little 
fingers, because he has seen us open our music before 
striking the keys with our fingers. In all these early im- 
itative actions there is no more evidence of heredity being 
especially responsible for the imitativeness than there is in 
the actions of the perfumer. As the smell imitating per- 
fumer may nevertheless fail in his business (if we regard 
such failure as some evidence against the existence of re- 
flexes), so the sight imitating child may fail in his busi- 
ness, in playing the piano, for example, in spite of his 
wonderful imitation. Summing up, then: there is scarcely 
any inherited visual imitation. 

That leaves us still more interested in the question how 
much auditory imitation the Other-One has inherited. There 
is this to be said, first, that without imitating sounds, the 
Other-One would surely fail in his business of living a 
human life. Auditory imitation is so essential that we al- 
most expect Nature to have made some provision for it by 
equipping the Other-One with special reflexes. The sound 
producing reflexes belong, we have said, to the signaling 
reflexes. Nature has equipped animals also with reflexes 
of responding to signals ; but the responses to signals are 
not necessarily imitative actions, as we have seen in many 
examples. Generally the reflex response to a signal is not 



328 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

an imitative action. But it seems that to a certain extent 
Nature has equipped the Other-One with reflex responses 
to auditory signals which repeat with some accuracy the 
auditory stimulation. 

What is perhaps most remarkable about auditory imita- 
tion is the fact that it appears earlier than all other (no 
matter what their origin) imitations; and that it grows 
weaker as the individual grows older, whereas all other 
imitations seem to grow stronger with advancing age. Audi- 
tory imitation begins with imitative reflexes, and hardly 
develops into imitative habits (altho it develops into defi- 
nite speech habits) but rather dies out. All other imita- 
tions (think of making a fist before your enemy) develop 
from various non-imitating reflexes accidentally as imita- 
tive habits and grow stronger and stronger because the im- 
itativeness is found to serve a purpose. Auditory imita- 
tiveness has its maximum during the second year of life. 
Visual imitativeness is very conspicuous only about a year 
later and perhaps does not reach a maximum until old 
age. 

The infant imitates reflexly the speech sounds which are 
produced by others in his presence or by himself. The 
eight or ten year old child has almost ceased to imitate 
speech sounds. How slight the tendency to imitate speech 
has become in grown people, all those know from experi- 
ence, to their regret, who have ever learned or taught a 
foreign language. Grown people will do a hundred other 
things rather that repeat over and over again a phrase just 
heard as small children do, — the secret of children's rapid 
success. It is quite natural, however, that auditory imita- 
tion should be found so strong during the second and even 
a few of the following years and so weak later. The child 
must learn to speak early in life. And he learns by im- 
itating. When this learning of speech is once accomplished. 



AUDITORY IMITATION 329 

imitative actions are no longer necessary. Aside from learn- 
ing speech in early childhood, auditory imitative actions 
have no biological value of their own. 

With visual imitation the case is quite different. It is 
true that all thru life a good many skilful movements are 
learned by visual (tho not reflex) imitative actions. How- 
ever, the visual imitative action itself, aside from all learn- 
ing, has an enormous biological value all thru life, in old 
age no less than in middle age and infancy. When we see 
a crowd gather in the street, we immediately (by habit) 
run to the spot ourselves, — not because we still have to 
learn how to run to a point seen, but because we have dis-- 
covered that it is of immense value for our individual and 
our social life interests to do at any time as we see other 
people do, exceptions notwithstanding. 

Summing up, then, we may say that auditory imitative 
actions are virtually the only class of imitative reactions 
which are inherited and for whose inheritance there is some 
need; that even here one must not have an exaggerated 
idea of the exactness of the imitation resulting from the 
reflex equipment, since the reflex amounts to hardly more 
than responding to the signaling reflex of another person 
by a rather vague signaling reflex of one's own, producing 
varying sounds perhaps at random more frequently than 
imitatingly (as a dog responds to another's barking by its 
own barking, but only by chance imitatingly) ; and that 
these auditory imitative reflexes become so completely re- 
placed by sound producing habits that after ten years virtu- 
ally nothing is left of the original value and strength of 
these imitative reflexes. 

What we have said in an earlier chapter about ''serial 
activity" as a special kind of concerted action finds its most 
important illustration in speech. All speech is concerted 
action, and among the various kinds of concertedness the 



330 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

particular sequence of the sounds is obviously of especially 
great importance. Get ready to say ''ga" but stop just be- 
fore the "g" explosion. Then do the same for the syllable 
''goo.'' You notice a great difference of position of the 
mouth organs and of tension of the various muscles altho 
the first sound is supposed to be the same. The muscles 
are clearly innervated and ready at once to produce both 
sounds, consonant and vowel. Which sound precedes in 
actual production seems to depend, as in our discussion of 
serial activity in a previous chapter, on the relative inten- 
sity of the nervous flux going to the one and the other 
group of muscles. 

It is possible — indeed probable — that in the pronuncia- 
tion of such words as ''god" and ''dog" there is no dift'er- 
ence at all in the temporal order of the nervous activities 
involved, but a mere distribution difference of the resis- 
tances of the nervous branches serving simultaneously as 
conductors, to the effect that, in the one case, the muscular 
"g'' tension is stronger than, and thus becomes outwardly 
effective before, the ''d" tension, and in the other case the 
reverse, — ^the ''o" tension being of intermediate intensity in 
either case. This condition of relative resistances in each 
special case is, of course, habit in the particular language, 
and not inherited. 

But naturally, the statement of the last two paragraphs 
does not deny that kinesthetic excitations may also play a 
certain role in bringing about particular sound sequences. 
Kinesthetic excitations are especially likely to be of an im- 
portant service in determining the proper sequence of the 
sounds in very long words and whole phrases and sen- 
tences. The greater the temporal complexity of the sound, 
the less self-sufficient for the temporal order can be the 
manner of distribution of a nervous flux having a single 
source. 



SIGNALING AND LOCALIZING 331 

Before leaving speech the pecuHar relation between the 
localizing and the sound signaling reflexes should be point- 
ed out. In discussing the localizing reflex we mentioned 
that the "most movable'' part of the body in each case is the 
one which performs the localizing movement. Usually this 
is, of course, an arm. During the second half of the first 
year this reflex begins to assume the particular form in 
which not only the arm is stretched out in the service of 
the localizing reflex, but the index finger too (but not the 
other fingers). Now, this is about the same time when the 
first articulated sounds (usual guttural and dental — ga and 
da) are reflexly produced by the baby. But the act of 
stretching the index finger, that is, pointing, is accompanied 
by a dental rather than a guttural sound — ^the baby point- 
ing and saying *'dadada." 

We recall here the interesting fact that in all Germanic 
languages the demonstrative pronouns begin with a dental 
sound. This does not seem to be altogether fortuitous. 
Try yourself to accompany a pointing (localizing) move- 
ment by a dental or a guttural sound. The latter seems 
less natural, less easy. 

The explanation is probably a mere subdivision of the 
explanation of a more general fact, — the fact that gestures, 
especially those of the right hand, are likely to accompany 
speech, in adults as well as in the young. 

For nearly a century it has been known that the left 
hemisphere of the normal human brain functions in cer- 
tain cases in preference to the right hemisphere. The con- 
nections of the left hemisphere with the muscles of the 
right half of the body and also with all the speech organs 
are closer than those of the right hemisphere. A nervous 
current, therefore, which takes mainly the road to the 
speech organs and partly also to other muscles, finds less 
resistance to the muscles of the right arm than toward the 



o 



32 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 



muscles of the left arm. In order to go to the left arm, 
it first has to go from the left to the other hemisphere. 
Thus its path becomes lengthened and of increased resis- 
tance. 

It is natural, therefore, that gestures accompanying 
speech must be gestures of the right rather than of the left 
arm. 

The case of the dental or the guttural sound fitting better 
together with the pointing movement, seems to be capable 
of a similar explanation. A sound which is produced by 
friction in the front part of the mouth seems to depend 
within the nerve centers on neurons belonging to and being 
found among that group of neurons which serves the ex- 
tremities of the body, like the pointing finger. The muscles 
of the throat, belonging to a different, an internal group of 
muscles, are quite likely to be served within the nerve cen- 
ters chiefly by neurons which belong to and are found 
among groups of neurons which do not serve frequently 
the extremities of the body, like the pointing finger. A 
nervous current is, then, more likely to call forth both a 
dental sound and the pointing of the index finger than a 
guttural sound and the pointing of the index finger. That 
is, this nervous current, when we measure the resistance 
starting from a certain nerve center, is found to travel over 
a longer and therefore more resistant path in the direction 
of the muscles back in the mouth than in the direction of 
the muscles in the front part of the mouth. 

Why movements of the speech organs are likely to be 
accompanied by gestures at all, of any kind, is a question 
which we shall hardly raise after having emphasized thru- 
out this book that every nervous current, even when coming 
from a single source, is widely distributed thru the nerv- 
ous system, and that any main activity is likely to be ac- 
companied by secondary — and generally, by the spectator, 



ACOEI^T AND GESTURE 333 

overlooked — activities. But the question may still be worth 
raising in this connection why some nationalities gesticulate 
more than others. 

Some languages, especially the English, habitually put an 
enormous vigor into the enunciation of one definite sound 
of each word or sentence. The English language, that is, 
is a strongly accented language. According to the law of 
nervous deflection we expect, then, that the strong nervous 
flux leading to the enunciation of the accented sound should 
interfere more or less with the execution of such secondary 
actions as hand gestures. This is a plausible explanation 
of the absence, or at least remarkable infrequency, of 
gesticulation in speakers using the English language. In 
the French language, on the other hand, there is no ac- 
cent worth mentioning. The reflex gestures of the speaker 
are therefore fully preserved. Accent in speech is thus a 
substitute for gesture. 

This explanation seems more generally applicable than 
the popular one assuming racial differences of temperament 
as the exclusive cause of the difference in question. May- 
be there are some such racial differences. But taking into 
consideration the origin of the two peoples, such a differ- 
ence of ''temperament" would remain ethnologically rather 
mysterious. 



CHAPTER XV 

Rhythm : Motions Grouped and Thus Repeated. 

Who has not had many experiences hke the following: 
You are sitting at the open window thru which the regular- 
ly occurring puffs of a distant steam engine reach your ear. 
You see the Other-One sitting in another part of the same 
room. Suddenly you observe that he beats the time of the 
engine puffs, tapping with his finger on the table, or may- 
be with his foot on the floor. But that is not all. Indeed, 
that would not be at all remarkable. Why should not each 
of many regularly repeated auditory stimuli call forth an 
habitual motion, regularly repeated, of the Other-One's 
limb? 

But you observe that the Other-One's tapping movements 
are not all equal. They seem to consist of groups of six, 
or of groups of three, according as you make finer or les5 
fine distinctions. 

One of the six strokes appears to be especially vigorous 
and also to occupy a little more time than each of the other 
five strokes. It is executed more from the shoulder joint 
than the others. The two strokes following are executed 
with a much weaker movement of the hand. In them the 
upper arm at the shoulder joint takes hardly any part. The 
motion occurs from the elbow joint rather, or even merely 
from the wTist. The total time occupied by these two 
strokes is slightly less what you would expect, — slightly less 
than double the time of that vigorous stroke. That is, 
however, natural, since a long pendulum generally has a 
longer period than a short pendulum, and the vigorous 

334 



RHYTHM 335 

stroke is a sort of pendulum motion of the whole arm, the 
weaker strokes only of the lower part of the arm. 

In our example, the fourth stroke (the first of the second 
group, if we prefer) is comparable to the first altho pos- 
sibly it has the characters of vigor and length in a less pro- 
nounced degree. The fifth and sixth are comparable to the 
second and third. 

If you recognize a difference between the first and the 
fourth stroke, you call what you observe a perception on 
the part of the Other-One of a six-stroke rhythm. If you 
fail to recognize this difference, you call it a perception of a 
three-stroke rhythm. But what do you mean by rhythm? 

So much is clear that you do not mean by ''rhythm," in 
the particular sense in which you use this term here, merely 
that the Other-One does something repeatedly. If that 
were the case, you could include the Other-One's heart beat 
in a discussion of ''rhythm.'' But then the very reason for 
devoting to rhythm a special chapter of a psychological 
text-book would have disappeared. Then, indeed, you 
would use the term "rhythm" merely as an (absolutely 
superfluous) synonym of the term for regularly repeated 
events on which mathematical science has long agreed, that 
is, the term "periodicity." 

We mean here by "rhythm" that the Other-One groups 
his motions by putting a special vigor, length, or perhaps 
still another property, every now and then, regularly, into 
one of these repeated motions. It is not really essential 
either that these motions are performed in succession by 
different muscles, or even different limbs, or -exactly the 
same limb, the same muscle. You might observe that the 
engine puffs stimulate the Other-One to tap with one 
finger, using for each motion exactly the same muscles, that 
is, neither, more nor fewer nor other muscles, merely a more 
vigorous contraction for the "accented" stroke of the group 
of strokes. That is one of the extremes. 



336 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

Or you might observe that the engine puffs stimulate the 
Other-One, while he is standing, to raise his whole left 
leg and let it fall heavily upon the floor, and to tap then 
gently once with the index finger of his right hand and 
once with the index finger of his left upon the table. That 
is another extreme in the muscular activity. And there 
are also extremes in the stimulation as we shall see pres- 
ently. 

When instead of the regularly repeated, but unaccented 
engine puffs the sounds of an orchestra playing a waltz 
are the effective stimulation in the case, that also is a kind 
of extreme in so far as the stimulating orchestra marks 
the accents. On the other hand, you may observe that the 
Other-One engages in the same kind of remarkable activity 
when there is absolutely no accentuation or grouping or 
even repetition in the stimulation. For example, the Other- 
One may be standing at the window and looking out while 
a beautiful young lady, his partner in a waltz at yester- 
day's ball, passes on the street. The sight of that lady is 
the stimulus. That is the other extreme in the sense of a 
total absence of even repetition, not to mention grouping, 
of stimuli. 

. In all these cases differing in muscular activity and in 
stimulation you speak of ^'rhythm.'' But the most re- 
markable case among them is the case where the sight of 
the lady is followed by a gentle tapping of the lone finger 
on the table, first a little stronger, then twice a little more 
softly, and so forth. In this combination of extreme con- 
ditions, with the peculiarities of the stimulation and of the 
reaction apparently entirely unrelated, incommensurable, 
the very problem of ''rhythm'' formulates itself in your 
thought : What is it that the Other-One's nervous system 
possesses which conditions such a strange mode of reaction, 
repeating grouped motions when there is neither grouping 
nor repetition in the stimulation? 



0^7 



ORIGIN OF THE GROUPING' OF MOTIONS 33/ 

There was a time when psychologists were quite ready — 
too ready — to answer this question by saying ''Rhythm is 
one of the human instincts/' As in the case of imitative 
actions, so in that of rhythmic actions this answer is no 
longer acceptable. It was excusable only as long as psy- 
chologists meant by ''instincts" some mysterious property 
of the soul. It is inexcusable nowadays when the role 
played by the nervous tissue in conducting excitations from 
sense organs to muscles is sufficiently understood and when 
an "inherited action" has come to mean a definite "in- 
herited nervous path" from a definite sensory point to a 
definite motor point. 

The significant fact in rhythm is a tendency for any and 
all muscular activity to occur in groups made up of several 
actions and for these groups to be repeated. What, then, 
is the origin of the general tendency in the individual to 
perform muscular actions in a group ? 

What the correlative of the Other-One's grouping is in 
his nervous functioning, we simply do not know yet. But 
at least this question should be raised and can be answered 
with our present knowledge : Is this tendency toward a 
definite manner of grouping something inherited or some- 
thing acquired? 

In favor of answering "inherited" the fact has often been 
referred to that only those manners of grouping are likely 
to be observed in the Other-One which consist of making 
up the group in question of 2, 3, 4, 6, 8, and possibly 12 
and 16, elements. "If the numbers counted are so strange- 
ly restricted," it was argued, "the restriction must be caused 
by heredity, for counting is in no way a restricted habit." 
The error in this argument is the assumption that "count- 
ing" has something essential to do with the rhythm forms. 
As a matter of fact, when you hear the Other-One count 
while performing group actions you might as well say that 



338 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

that is evidence enough for his lack of rhythm. When we 
say that the Other-One possesses rhythm, we mean ex- 
actly the opposite ; we mean that we observe him per- 
forming a definite group activity without counting, and 
even while by conversation with him we intentionally make 
his counting utterly impossible. 

Another frequently heard, but inacceptable argument in 
favor of heredity is the assertion that every child is ''rhyth- 
mical." But this argument shows only how little time those 
who advance it have given to the observation of children. 
It is true that ''rhythm'' is not the usual result of some 
years spent in the schoolroom as "knowing the multiplica- 
tion table'' is. Nevertheless, all learning is not confined to 
the schoolroom, and children obviously do not inherit, but 
acquire their rhythm, at different ages, a few when they 
are three, four, or five years old, some more during the 
years of attending the first years of school, some much 
later. 

The only fact which we have to make clear, then, is the 
one referred to in the following question: If rhythm is 
an acquisition, including several acquired habits of action, 
why do we usually find among these habits only those of 
2, 3, 4, 6, and 8-stroke rhythms, and virtually never, ex- 
cepting a few musical compositions of very few^ composers, 
the 5 and 7-stroke rhythm? 

We shall, therefore, give in this chapter a plausible an- 
swer to this question. And after having reported the facts 
giving this answer, we shall point out the further, very 
remarkable, fact that the rhythms when once learned — no 
matter of which number of strokes and by what muscles 
they have been learned — can be transferred to any one 
muscle (or several muscles) which may have been entirely 
inactive during, and unconcerned with, the acquisition of 
that rhythm. 



OKIGINS OF THE TWO-STKOKE RHYTHM 339 

Of all the much talked of kinds of ''transference of 
training/' (from one sense to another sense, from one 
muscle to another muscle) this is the only transference of 
training of which it can be said both that the fact of its 
existence (as a true transference) is established without 
doubt and that the way in which it comes about in the nerv- 
ous system is thus far absolutely unknown and even un- 
guessable. No one has ever yet made the barest sugges- 
tion as to the manner of transference of this training with- 
in the Other-One's nervous system, tho no one has ever 
denied the actuality of this particular transference. 

First, now, let us report facts which help to give the an- 
swer to the former question. One of the most common 
(all thru life, excepting the first year after birth) activities 
of the Other-One, the very nature of which implies repeti- 
tion of grouped actions, is walking. In the exercise, of 
this activity lies probably the chief opportunity and oc- 
casion for the acquisition of the plain 2-stroke rhythm. 

The Other-One can not walk without repeating the move- 
ment. But neither can he walk without composing his 
activity of two kinds of movements, a heavier and a lighter 
one. He can not walk hopping along on one leg. But 
when he alternates the legs, one of the movements is al- 
ways heavier, or longer, than the preceding and following 
one. Thus we have a group of two actions. Whether we 
regard this group as composed of a heavy motion followed 
by a light one, or as composed of a light motion followed 
by a heavy one, (accent first or accent last) is quite arbi- 
trary, purely a matter of taste or of the momentary inter- 
est in this or that aspect of the entire phenomenon. 

Why is the movement of one leg by necessity heavier and 
more prolonged than that of the other leg? Simply in con- 
sequence of the Other-One's right-sidedness. The right 
leg is, so to speak, the skilful mechanican and the left leg 



340 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

his unskilled helper. Balancing on one leg is easier on the 
left, because the skilful part of the process of keeping from 
tumbling does not consist in supporting the weight of the 
body (the helper can do that!), but in readjusting the 
weight distribution quickly from moment to moment by the 
raised (right) leg, as the tight rope walker balances him- 
self by shifting a heavy pole or loaded parasol held in his 
hands. 

We remember that walking equals balancing plus the 
functioning of the positive localizing reflex. Balancing is 
more natural on the left leg than on the right ; the localiz- 
ing action is more readily carried out with the right leg 
than with the left. In walking as in balancing the heavy 
part of the work is naturally assumed by the left leg, the 
skilful part by the right leg. (This is true even when the 
muscular development of the left leg happens to be weaker 
than that of the right. You also sometimes see a plumber 
at w^ork who is a stronger man than his helper, yet 
the helper has to do the heavy work.) It is no wonder that 
the officer who wants his soldiers to mark step, orders them 
to fall heavily on the left leg (not on the right), because 
that leaves the skillful right leg free to attend to the bal- 
ancing and falling forward of the body in the proper direc- 
tion. 

When we skate on ice and desire to slide a definite out- 
ward leading curve, we discover that we can do that more 
easily, with less risk of tumbling, on the left foot turning 
to the left than on the right foot turning to the right. The 
right leg, swinging in the air in the former case, is a better 
''balancing pole" than, in the latter case, the left leg. Of 
chief importance is the choice of the leg which does the 
balancing ; either leg can probably well enough do the mere- 
ly heavy work of supporting the sliding body. 



ORIGINS OF THE TWO-STROKE RHYTHM 341 

So, whenever there is any need or occasion for division 
of labor, the left leg does the heavy and the right leg the 
light (but skillful) work. And that the work of the less 
skilled member is likely to be a little more prolonged than 
that of the skilled member, is also evident enough. 

Walking, then, is all thru life a continuous training in 
performing repeated actions in a group of two, a heavier 
and prolonged action alternating with a lighter and slightly 
shortened action. If our anatomy were different, if, for 
example, we had three legs or four legs instead of two, we 
should miss this training. The quadrupeds miss it. Four 
legs, we know from observing dogs, horses, etc., do not 
co-operate easily in one definite manner; that is, they do 
not co-operate in the same manner every time. Those ani- 
mals use now one gait, now another. Therein is found 
an obvious explanation of the fact that ''the animals do not 
have rhythm.'' The animals have no chance of acquiring 
it. The four actions of the four legs do not succeed each 
other at such regular intervals that they could count as a 
regular repetition. 

Our hands give us no meaner opportunities for such train- 
ing than do our legs. Especially true is this in manual 
labor, that is, in the systematized work of civilized man, 
in domestic work or factory work. The savage, who does 
not perform much systematic labor, has fewer opportuni- 
ties of this kind. And the savage has less "rhythm," too, 
altho some people have the opposite opinion of him. But 
that savage who often practices dancing must of course be 
excluded from this statement. Dancing is systematic ac- 
tivity, and, among savages, is regarded as labor rather than 
recreation. 

Having two feet, and having two hands, and being right- 
sided (or left-sided, that makes no difference) — therein lies 
the explanation of why the 2-stroke rhythm is common 



342 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHEK-ONE 

among human individuals. Why, now, also the 4-stroke 
rhythm ? 

There are many systematic occupations in which the 
Other-One's activity is composed of an effective action fol- 
lowed by a mere "rebound." Take as an instance driving 
in nails. The hammer is swung down (or forward), but 
naturally rebounds upwards (or back). But this rebound 
must not be thought of here as a mere physical matter with 
which the muscles are unconcerned. The antagonistic mus- 
cles, drawing the hammer up, actually begin to contract be- 
fore the hammer has hit the nail, and are only assisted by 
the physical rebound. Nevertheless this action of with- 
drawing the tool is best named simply the rebound, because 
that name makes always clear what particular action is re- 
ferred to. Such a double action of effective motion plus 
rebound is clearly a further example of activities which 
lead to the acquisition of the 2-stroke rhythm. 

But let us recall that, when the Other-One has to drive 
in a nail, he is often observed to anticipate the strong ac- 
tivity in a weaker one, merely "feeling his way," so to 
speak, in order to make sure in what curve the hammer 
must swing to strike the head of the nail. Such a tenta- 
tive action again consists of a (relatively) effective motion 
and a mere rebound. The tentative action plus the strong 
action make up then a total activity consisting of four mo- 
tions. The four motions succeed each other at fairly equal 
intervals, so that we can speak of regularity of repetition. 
The first is the tentative hitting motion ; it ranks as the 
second strongest motion. It is followed by the tentative 
rebound, which is the weakest of all, ranking as the fourth 
motion in strength. Next follows the strong hitting mo- 
tion. And this is followed by the strong rebound, which 
ranks third in strength among the four. If we mark the 
four motions, according to their strength, by the letters 



ORIGINS OF THE FOUR-STTtOKE RHYTHM 343 

A, B, C, D, their succession as above described is B — D — 
A — C. Here we have in the Other-One's Hfe a common 
enough activity of the class of habitual activities which 
lead to the acquisition of the 4-stroke rhythm. 

What we said in discussing the 2-stroke rhythm about 
the location of the accent may be repeated here. It is a 
matter of taste whether we regard the ''group" as begin- 
ning with the accent (that is, the strongest motion) or end- 
ing with the accent or having the accent somewhere with- 
in the group. 

Of some significance, however, and worth mentioning is 
the fact that we can well speak here of a secondary accent 
in addition to the main accent. The motion ''B,'' when 
group follows after group, has before and after itself the 
motions ''C and "D" which are weaker; it is therefore 
in a relative sense an accent. The 4-stroke rhythm may 
be divided into two kinds of 4-stroke rhythms, with and 
without a secondary accent, for there are also opportunities 
in life for acquiring a 4-action group habit where the sec- 
ond strongest action is not both preceded and followed by 
a weaker action, thus giving no rise to a secondary accent. 

In this necessarily brief treatment of the whole phenom- 
enon of rhythm, what has been said concerning the proba- 
bility of the Other-One's acquiring the 2-stroke rhythm 
and the 4-stroke rhythm must suffice for making it plausi- 
ble also that there are, altho rarer, opportunities for ac- 
quiring the 8-stroke and even the 16-stroke rhythms with 
or without secondary, tertiary, etc., accents. Our next prob- 
lem now is that of showing by examples what opportun- 
ities the Other-One has for acquiring the 3-stroke rhythm, 
the 6-stroke rhythm, and maybe the 12-stroke rhythm. 

One very obvious chance for changing a group of two 
actions into a group of three is offered by the necessity 
arising of performing such an action as that of nail driving 



344 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

alternately toward the left and the right, or alternately up 
and down. The Other-One hits, let us say, a nail on a 
board before him below the level of his chest and carries 
out the rebound as previously discussed. But now, suppose, 
he has to hit a nail on the lower surface of a board before 
him above the level of his chest. A third movement, in 
the downward direction, has to be added to the other two 
merely in order to get ready for the work on the upper 
board. Let us call this added movement the ''preparatory'' 
movement. It is probably the weakest of the three. The 
hitting, the rebound and the preparatory movement then 
constitute the group of three. There certainly are in the 
Other-One's life, especially in industrial life, opportunities 
for having to change the direction of work alternately into 
the opposite direction. 

Here is another concrete example. Imagine a gardener 
having planted a double row of plants like the dots of our 
figure "Steps creating a 3-stroke or 6-stroke rhythm." In 
order to keep the loose earth, just thrown around the roots 
of each plant, from drying, it is necessary to compress it 
and thus render effective the capillary attraction which 
draws the moisture from the lower soil. The quickest way 




STEPS CREATING A 3 OR 6-STRO'KB RHYTHM. 

of doing the work is to walk along the center line of the 
double row and to step, with the full weight of the body, 
on each of the places which need compression, using, of 
course, alternately the right and the left foot. Now, try to 
walk ahead, doing this, and observe how your legs most 
naturally act during this procedure. While you are stand- 
ing on your right foot, the muscles of your right leg are 



ORIG*r]N-S OF THE THREE-STEOKE RHYTHM 345 

strained in such a way as to keep the leg straight and able 
to support the weight of the body, but not in such a way 
as to throw readily the weight of the body upon the other 
foot. For this a complete readjustment of the muscles of 
the right leg is requisite. To bring about the muscular re- 
adjustment, you most naturally let the body fall lightly up- 
on the left foot and let it swing back to the right. Thus 
you assume that new position on the right foot in which the 
tension of the various muscles is adjusted so that the. full 
weight of the body can be thrown on the left foot force- 
fully and skillfully. The left foot now hits exactly the 
spot in the left row on the ground where the compression 
of the soil is needed. 

What, then, have you really done instead of stepping 
simply from the right foot upon the left? You have made 
two intermediate steps of a much less forceful kind, merely 
preparatory to the proper stepping on the loose soil. Be- 
fore you now step on the next spot in the right row, you 
make again two preparatory steps, and so you continue 
your agricultural work most easily (that is, most naturally) 
and most effectively. Between each two compressing move- 
ments there are always two different preparatory move- 
ments, both of an easy character. 

The 6-stroke rhythm can be understood most easily as the 
total activity including both the activities on the alternating 
sides. If, for instance, we consider the Other-One's ham- 
mer movement toward the left as being under special cir- 
cumstances accidentally of more consequence than the ham- 
mer movement to the right, and therefore as being stronger, 
we at once have a group of six motions among which the 
first has the main accent and the fourth a secondary ac- 
cent. But undoubtedly there are also opportunities in the 
Other-One's life for acquiring the habit of a group of six 
actions among which the first has the main accent and the 



346 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

third and the fifth both have secondary accents ; or of six 
actions among which one has ''the" accent, there being no 
secondary accents whatsoever. 

Thus far w^e have convinced ourselves that opportunities 
are not infrequent in the Other-One's Hf e for acquiring the 
2-stroke, 3-stroke, 4-stroke, 6-stroke, 8-stroke rhythms. We 
use the plural form ''rhythms" advisedly, for it has already 
become clear to us that the Other-One does not acquire 
"rhythm" in the abstract, but particular rhythms of so many 
actions per group. Who, now, will suggest to us probable 
life activities of the Other-One in which five or seven 
regularly repeated actions are unified into groups having 
each an accent? 

The fact that such activities are extremely rare explains 
to us at once, why 5-stroke and 7-stroke rhythms are so 
rarely observed in playful activity, in music, in poetry and 
elsewhere in the Other-One's life. There is no need of the 
almost ridiculous assumption that creative Nature possesses 
such a dislike (reminding one of the "horror vacui" in 
medieval physics) for the numbers "5" and "7" that she left 
these out in making us a gift of "rhythm." 

However, while opportunities for acquiring the 5-stroke 
rhythm are actually rare in the Other-One's life, we should 
be able to create such opportunities artificially and inten- 
tionally if we are interested in the matter. What, for in- 
stance, w^ould make up an activity of this kind? If any 
one suggests counting "1 — 2 — 3 — 4 — 5" and putting an arti- 
ficial accent every time, say, on "1," we may accept this as 
a possible method of acquiring this rhythm, for there would 
be regularly repeated (speech) actions of which every fifth 
would be the strongest. But this method of using a count- 
ing exercise in order to acquire the rhythm would turn out 
to be an exceedingly poor method. 



ACQUIRING UKUSUAL EHYTHMS 



3147 



A good method has been found to be the following one, 
which employs a wooden frame, a square about two feet 
high, placed upon the table before the Other-One whom 
we desire to train. The frame has four buttons on the in- 
side, as shown in the figure, which may be furnished for 
experimental purposes with bells or recording devices of 
any desired kind. The Other-One is given a heavy spherical 
rubber mallet and asked to do a particular kind of work on 
the buttons of the frame. He is never told to count anything. 
Counting is never mentioned to him. All possible varieties 
of rhythm can be acquired by properly chosen forms of 
exercise on this frame (even the 11 -stroke and the 13- 
stroke rhythms), — without any counting whatsoever. 

We tell the Other-One to hit the left button ''tenta- 
tively," carry out the ''rebound," hit the same button 
"strongly," carry out the "rebound," and then add a "pre- 




FRAME FOR LEARNING UNUSUAI. RHYTHMS. 

paratory" motion in order to get ready to do exactly the 
same with only sides exchanged to the button on the right 
of the frame. Immediately after that it is done again on 
the left, and so forth alternately. The activity consists of 
five regularly repeated actions grouped, so that every fifth 
action in the repeated groups has an accent. When the 
Other-One has taken this exercise five minutes a day for 
four weeks, he tells us he now has "the 5-stroke rhythm" 



348 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

comparable in every way to the 2-stroke and 3-stroke 
rhythms which he previously possessed. There is then no 
reason left for beHeving that those other rhythms were not 
also acquired. Merely occasions for acquiring them oc- 
curred at an earlier time in his life, — and occur with some 
probability some time in everybody's life. 

Or, we tell the Other-One to hit the left button, then 
carry out the rebound, then make a preparatory movement 
for doing the same thing toward the right button ; but, 
after having done it on the right and having made the sec- 
ond preparatory movement, not to continue on the left but 
to make an additional preparatory movement thru a quarter 
circle in order to get ready to perform the whole group of 
the six motions now up and down, as he made them before 
right and left. The exercise leads here after a few weeks 
to the acquisition of a 7-stroke rhythm which appears 
perfectly like any ordinary rhythm. 

The 5-stroke and 7-stroke rhythms can not, therefore, be 
said to be essentially different in origin and quality from 
the usual rhythms. The only thing that can be said of 
them is the fact that occasions for accidentally and incident- 
ally acquiring them are very rare. 

Musicians have begun to use the 5-stroke and the 7- 
stroke rhythms, in compositions of the highest quality. 
Maybe some poet will have the courage to follow in their 
footsteps. The fact, however, that musicians and poets 
have virtually abstained from using these rhythms, has 
nothing astonishing for us. Few are the musicians (for 
example, Tshaikovsky) who have these rhythms, and few 
are the lovers of music who have them. There is little in- 
ducement, then, for any musician to employ these rhythm 
forms in his compositions. 

But we hear them once in a while, and not only in music 
of the European variety. The writer has seen Arabs in a 



FIVE-STEOKE RHYTHM 349 

religious street procession, with flags and brasiers in their 
hands, walking along in dancing steps, five steps in a group. 
And he found there the confirmation of his previously es- 
tablished conviction that the alternate change of a lateral 
or vertical activity into a similar one in the opposite direc- 
tion (as above described) is probably the most influential 
factor in establishing rhythms of the odd number kinds. 
These Arabs in the procession face at every fifth step alter- 
nately the spectators on the right side and on the left side 
of the street, saluting now the one side, now the other. And 
the Arabic music band plays a ''march'' which, very fitting- 
ly, with perfect distinctness consists of five equally long 
tonal phrase elements to the measure. The musicians them- 



'fHULifH-Ufl 



ARABIC MARCHING DANCE. 

selves dance while playing. The music is here reproduced. 
It is endlessly repeated. (There are no harmonies.) The 
old assertion that all "true" rhythms contain only numbers 
made up of the prime numbers 2 and v3 as factors is clearly 
a myth. The word ''true'' in this sense is meaningless. 

The fact has already been stated that any particular 
rhythm, after having been acquired by the Other-One thru 
the acquisition of a particular habit of concerted (serial, or 
group) action, — amazing as this may seem — transfers itself 
with ease to virtually any arbitrarily chosen motor point, 
or motor points, of the body. The nervous system as a 
whole, that is, is after that habit acquisition capable of con- 
ducting, anywhere and anywhence within it, a particular 
succession of stronger and weaker stream waves with spe- 
cial ease. How that comes about is unknown. But the 
fact of this transference is only the more remarkable. 



350 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

When the nervous system is once in possession of this 
peculiar capacity and tendency, we say that the Other-One 
has ''rhythm/' or, more correctly, that he has a particular 
rhythm, which may ''crop out" at any time in any muscles 
of his body. Whenever he happens to execute this rhythm 
in response to a perfectly regular (that is, known by us to 
be perfectly regular) succession of stimuli, tones, drum 
beats, ticking noises, or what not, he is likely to answer a 
question in this respect by telling us that these sounds are 
not all alike, that they themselves "have rhythm." Since 
we know better, and since he will probably contradict him- 
self after a while, we have here a new example of those 
reactions which are "wasted" and which, therefore, are 
called "illusions." Rhythm experiences are often, and quite 
rightly, mentioned in the text-books as samples of illusions. 
We all probably have had such illusions of rhythm while 
riding at leisure on a steamboat or in a train. We find 
ourselves able to change the rhythm of the train at our 
own sweet will. The stronger our own habits of group 
activity are (for instance, if we are passionate dancers), 
the more readily come these wasted reactions, these illu- 
sions. 

An especially interesting transference of rhythm is the 
transference to the function of the speech organs. We call 
the result poetry, without, however, wishing to convey the 
idea that this is the only characteristic or even one ab- 
solutely indispensable property of everything which goes 
properly under the name of poetry. 

In all his games and recreations the Other-One enjoys 
the ability to perform easily an apparently difficult feat, or, 
as in the circus, to see other persons or animals perform 
easily apparently difficult feats. So he enjoys poetry. Mere- 
ly to speak in piose correctly and logically does not appear 
very difficult to the Other-One. To act rhythmically does 



THANSIFEEECN^CE OF BHYTHMS 3151 

not either appear very difficult in producing meaningless 
sounds. But a combination of rhythm in speech with good 
grammar, syntax, and logical sense seems so impossible that 
when it is successfully accomplished, it is very enjoyable. 

Of course, there is rhythm also in prose. But it is not 
applied with such long continued regularity as in poetry, 
where the regularity is called the ''meter." 

Wrong ideas are often entertained with respect to the 
rhythm of music. Only in dance and march music is the 
rhythm of music comparable in regularity to that of poetry 
with a . definite meter. In all other artistically performed 
music the rhythm is much more comparable to the rhythm 
of prose than to that of poetry. That ah music is written 
in measures has a purpose other than that of securing a 
''meter." The written niusical measure is a pseudo-rhythmi- 
cal group, introduced merely for the practical purpose of 
adjusting the time relations of the tones to some standard 
and aiding several performers in finding out how to play 
together. 

Quite erroneous would be the idea that the fact that peo- 
ple dance is one of the results of a transference to the feet 
of any particular rhythms previously acquired. Such a 
traiisference is, of course, not impossible; but it would be 
much truer to say that the Other-One has rhythm because 
he often dances than to say that he dances because he has 
rhythm. The main origins of the dance can be found in 
special (real or imaginary) human needs, as a study of 
anthropology reveals, not in an irresistable impulse to apply 
rhythm to otherwise unrhythmical locomotion. On the 
other hand, dancing, having once established itself as a 
habit in the Other-One, becomes one factor of great im- 
portance for developing in him particular rhythms. 

The value of rhythm for increasing the efficiency of labor 
has often been spoken of in books. But while rhythm has 



352 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

such a value, this value is usually overestimated by the 
authors. As with respect to the dance, so it may be said 
with respect to the performance of systematic labor that 
more frequently the Other-One can be said to have rhythm 
because he often labors than that he labors efficiently be- 
cause he has rhythm. 

The workmen of countries with a somewhat retarded 
civilization (the Orient) are often quoted as making their 
simple labor performances more efficient by forcing it, thru 
the medium of song, to be rhythmical. The writer, in mak- 
ing observations relative to this question, reached the con- 
clusion that the song usually serves, mainly or even ex- 
clusively, an entirely different purpose. For instance, w^hen 
three laborers tamp the clay into a form in order to con- 
struct the wall of a building, they sing. But they sing 
quite obviously not in order to make their w^ork rhythmic. 
Their work is not rhythmic. The raising of the heavy 
tamp is so slow% and its downward motion so quick, that 
there is nothing rhythmic in the individual laborer's work. 
And they succeed each other in tamping — so much is true — , 
but the succession is so irregular that one can not speak of 
anything rhythmical there either. 

Nevertheless they sing. But each one sings while he is 
doing his share of the work. And the other two laborers, 
during their brief pause in their work, pause generally in 
their singing too. The song, then, is a signal meaning (al- 
tho the words sung literally do not have to mean this) : '*I 
have done my share of the w^ork ; now^ do you yours.'' And 
the second laborer raises his tamp in response to the signal, 
in turn also takes up the song and thus gives the signal to 
the third laborer that his time has come to do his share. 
It may happen that the third then raises his tamp, but makes 
three or four quick and weak impressions on the clay, here 
and there, rather than one heavy blow if the latter is less 



LABOR a:n^d khythm 353i 

needed at the moment. He lengthens the singing a Httle. 
Signaling to each other and thereby encouraging each other 
to continue their heavy task, — that is the purpose of the 
song rather than to increase the efficiency of their labor by 
forcing it into a (here virtually impossible) rhythm. 



CHAPTER XVI 

How THE Othe:r-One Talks and WriTCs to Himself^. 

There is no need of describing in detail, in a psychology 
text-book, the invention of script. Only this let us recall 
that signaling by drawing a design of an object is a very 
natural invention. If the traveler in the wilderness, for ex- 
ample, hides provisions and wants his friends, who will 
come later, to find the hiding place, he carves or paints the 
outline of an animal used for alimentation on the tree or 
rock beneath which the provisions are hidden. Of this 
nature are also the famous Egyptian hieroglyphics. 

These visual signals, once invented, quite naturally be- 
come substitutes, as occasion arises, for auditory signals. 
That is, they become phonetic characters in which the ab- 
breviated picture represents the sound of the whole word 
that is the name of the object. If your voice does not 
carry the word ''meat" across the valley to your friends on 
the other ridge, you send a written message, the phonetic 
symbol which represents that word, across to your friends. 

Soon the phonetic symbol comes to represent, no longer 
that whole word, but only the chief sound, usually the in- 
itial sound, of the word. Phonetic script is then invented. 
Phonetic script is a kind of frozen speech, just as in a later 
(but actually much simpler) invention the disk of a talk- 
ing machine is a kind of frozen speech. 

Altho speech is nothing but a development into compli- 
cated habits of the original signaling reflex acting on the 
other animal's auditory organ, it assumes a new role in the 
Other-One's life thru being used by him in order to signal 
to himself. It is not necessary for us to support by far 

354 



SPEECH AND SCKIPT 355 

fetched evidence the assertion that the Other-One often 
signals to himself, often speaks to himself. Everybody 
knows that. But what is the use of doing that? Its use 
is, in philosophical terminology, generalization and abstrac- 
tion. It is our business here to understand it as a nervous 
function. 

1. A child, in the presence of such things as bread, 
fruit, edible roots, meat, impressing his eye, learns to pro- 
nounce the word ''food.'' Instead of handHng these things 
in accordance with his reflexes and already acquired habits, 
he speaks the word which his parents and other people of 
his environment use as the common name of these things. 

2. On the other hand, when the child's ear is struck by 
the sound "food," he learns to respond (if otherwise than 
by repeating ''food") by such particular muscular activities 
as are adapted either to the preparation and cooking or the 
consumption by the mouth of bread, fruit, edible roots, and 
similar articles. The word heard takes the place of the 
things seen in the nervous functions which result in hand- 
ling. From now on, whenever the word has struck the 
ear, the muscles which co-operate in properly handling 
these things get ready to work rather than other muscles 
get ready to handle other things which also impress the eye 
at the time. The nervous paths serving the latter impres- 
sions are at a disadvantage in not being "cleared for action" 
(by deflection or by preoccupation) thru the word signal 
commanding them. 

Under (1) we mentioned the speech action "food," under 
(2) the speech sound "food." We know, however, that 
the sound resulting from the speech action stimulates the 
ear of the very person who speaks. Thus the motor action 
of speaking and the resulting excitation of the ear become 
a double link inserted between the mere sight of the article 
of food (among other things) and its proper handHng 



356 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

(among other ways of handling). This insertion of a new 
Hnk into the chain of functions is not an unnecessary, un- 
economical complication. It is a helpful link because it is 
"the same link'' however different the visual appearances 
of the articles of food (they are all called by this par- 
ticular name ''food'') and however different the ways of 
handling and preparing them before swallowing (they are 
all called "feeding"). Thus stimuli most different and re- 
actions most different are all brought together into one 
sensory-motor class. 

This classing together, in the terminology of logic, is 
"generalization." In the life of animals generalization is 
virtually absent because, without speech, such classing to- 
gether of functions is very unlikely to occur. But let us 
not think that it is absolutely lacking in animals. A dog, 
for example, classes together certain sights ("outdoors," 
in contrast with "indoors") and certain actions, and per- 
forms the latter only outdoors. Nevertheless, the differ- 
ence between human beings and animals may well be de- 
scribed by saying that the latter do not generalize, or by 
saying, as we did in the first chapter of this book, that the 
former are thoughtful and the latter are thoughtless, which 
refers to exactly the same observable facts. 

Let us imagine another instance. A child has a solid 
article in his hand, or between his teeth, or in a pocket, or 
beneath his feet. An adequate stimulus causes him to trans- 
fer it from his place to a place farther away occupied by 
another person. The child, transferring the thing, is stimu- 
lated by the sound "give" and pronounces himself, imitat- 
ingly, this word "give." 

But the child also learns to respond to the auditory stim- 
ulation "give" by a motion transferring whatever is trans- 
ferable. 



GEN^ERALIZATION^ AKD ABSTRACTION 357 

Later he is busy transferring, hears the word ''give/' re- 
peats it by pronouncing it himself, responds to his own 
voice by transferring, and thus has within his action of 
transferring a speech function which seems to be a perfect- 
ly superfluous accompaniment and superfluous representa- 
tive of the action of transferring. 

Transferring transferring continued 

Transferring saying "give" sound of *'give" transferring continued 

This representative, accompanying its constituent, would 
indeed be an unnecessary complication of nervous activity, 
were it not for the fact that the additional function is 
practically the same however different the manner of mo- 
tion transferring the article in question : by stretching out 
the hand, throwing, kicking, dropping from an elevated 
place, rolling down a hill side, not to mention sending it by 
a messenger, by mail, or by any other device of modern 
transportation. This establishment of a definite function 
identical in spite of untold variations of the motor activities 
which it represents — they are all called giving — is obviously 
also a generalization. Or, in the terminology of logic, it is 
an abstraction. Abstraction, then, is a special case of gen- 
eralization — generalization, not with reference to objects, 
but wath reference to relations (spatial transference, in the 
instance discussed). 

The difference between the biological functions in ordi- 
nary generalization and in this special kind of generaliza- 
tion, abstraction, might be described thus. In ordinary gen- 
eralization the object handled is of main significance. The 
manner of handling it is of importance only in so far as 
the object is distinguished from objects of a different class 
by the proper mode of handhng it, — for example, ''food" 
is an object to be eaten by the responsive aninial. In ab- 
straction the mode of handling is of main significance. The 
object itself is important exclusively in so far as, if there 



358 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-OTs^E 

were no object whatsoever, no handlmg of it could have 
occurred. ^' "^ 

The purpose of our present discussion is not to give a 
lesson in logic. Our intention is to show^ briefly, but con- 
clusively, that practically no generalization or abstraction 
is possible without speech, and to make clear by concrete 
examples what is meant biologically by such terms as gen- 
eralization and abstraction. In order to make the signifi- 
cance of speech in the Other-One's individual life — over 
and above its social significance in signaling for co-opera- 
tion in actual labor — still clearer, let us discuss a third con- 
crete sample case taken from life. 

The Other-One, after having had both the speech experi- 
ences above described of ''food'' and of "give," happens to 
meet a beggar who ''signals" to him with the words "food, 
give." The Other-One then looks about until his eyes are 
arrested by an article belonging to the class "food." A 
piece of bread may serve to bring this about. He then ap- 
proaches the bread and would now^ respond to its sight 
simply by the most firmly established habit, by taking it 
and eating it, had his ears not been stimulated by the sound 
of the w^ord "give" too. So he responds by giving the piece 
of bread to the beggar. 

Similar experiences take place quite frequently in every 
child's as in every grown person's life. Suppose the ad- 
dress has been "food, give, hungry." The child thus learns 
to react to the signal "hungry" in the same way as to the 
sentence (if these two words may be called a sentence) 
"food, give." He learns to react to the word "hvmgry" by 
looking about for edible things, taking hold of them, and 
transferring them to the other being. There is new economy 
by means of a new "abstraction," one word taking the 
functional place of several. 



ABSTEACTION IS AN ECONOMY 359 

What a wealth of possible actions is thus placed under 
the control of the single speech function ''hungry !'' The 
Other-One, when fully experienced, hearing this word, looks 
about until an edible thing strikes his eyes. But if this does 
not happen to his eyes, other reactions follow in a more or 
less definite series. He may put his hands into his pockets 
to search for food. He may walk home in order to find 
food there. He may open his chest or cabinet, take money 
from it, and go to the store where food is for sale. Or he 
may go out to his fields, cut his wheat, and store it away 
under the roof of a barn in order to be able to give food 
at a later time when the sound hungry may strike his ear 
again. Not having any wheat mature on his fields, he may 
take out his horses and implements and plow the ground on 
which wheat is only to be sown. He may attend, as a stu- 
dent, an agricultural college where he learns how to grow 
wheat most successfully on his farm. He may vote in 
favor of his government spending money for the support 
of such a college. Further think of the innumerable pos- 
sible activities which make provision for the transportation 
of the food from place to place, from the producer to the 
consumer! To enumerate even those activities which are 
more directly controlled by the word hungry, would require 
a volume. Of the activities which we have mentioned, 
some are rather remotely dependent on the abstraction 
''hungry.'^ The more remotely they are dependent on it, 
the more numerous, of course, are the other abstractions 
on which they are also — more or less directly — dependent, 
so that, then, the actual motor response becomes more and 
more the resultant of many components, of all the activities 
controlled by all the abstractions. 

We have thus far spoken of the word ''hungry'' only as 
denoting a sound, stimulating the ear and controlling by 
means of the nervous paths diverging from the ear a vast 



360 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-OlSrE 

number of highly compHcated motor responses. We said 
above, that the word hungry was often heard together with 
the words food and give. At such a time it must have been 
imitated by the child in question. It is plain, however, that 
the same word, hungry, is also heard in other situations, 
especially at the time when the members of the family as- 
semble to take their meals together. At that time the 
child's sensory points of the stomach are likely to be ex- 
cited by the physiological condition called hunger technical- 
ly by the physiologists. Accordingly, the child learns to 
say ''hungry'' in response to that sensory excitation. 

Whenever he responds thus, he produces the sound of the 
word, and the sound acts on his own ear. Quite naturally, 
then, the speech function ''hungry" becomes an intermediate 
link between the sensory excitation of physiological hunger 
and that vast number of responses above mentioned, in- 
cluding such things as the deposit of a ballot in a box, all 
serving, with greater or less directness, to dispel hunger 
not only in others but in himself. 

It is not difficult, then, to understand the value of ab^ 
stractions to the Other-One. They serve to make ready, in- 
stead of the simple reflex corresponding to the stimulation 
or a simple habit having taken that reflex's place, an enor- 
mous number of complex motor responses among which 
for actual execution a selection is made, that is, is condi- 
tioned, by the other sensory factors of the situation and by 
the motor tendencies of the abstractions belonging to them. 
The functioning of abstractions (his "thoughtfulness" in 
popular terminology), which is the distinguishing feature 
of man's life as compared with that of animals, is made 
possible by the acquisition of speech. 

The speech functions here described are habits in no es- 
sential manner different from other habits. The mere fact 
that the muscles in question are the muscles of our speech 



MOTOR HABITS AND MEMORY 361 

organs and not those of our hands and feet, does not es- 
tabHsh an essential distinction between these and other 
habits. The laws of nervous function governing the forma- 
tion of habits are the same for the "generalization and ab- 
straction'' habits and for other habits. In ordinary life we 
distinguish them often by calling the other habits simply 
"habits/' or motor habits, or manual habits, or postural 
habits, and denying the name "habits" altogether to the 
habits of generalization and abstraction, giving them in- 
stead such names as memory, or reasoning power, or 
thought. This division into two classes has its advantages 
from the sociological point of view ; but it has little to com- 
mend it from the psychologist's point of view. 

It would be a complete misunderstanding of the func- 
tioning of speech in the generalizations and abstractions of 
an adult, if we should think that in every such case he must 
be heard to speak or mutter to himself in a manned audible 
to others. We know that sometimes he can be heard to 
speak to himself. But the muscular contractions may be 
far too weak to result in actual sound production. And 
yet their action as kinesthetic stimuli may be strong enough 
to bring about the effects which their action as sound 
stimuli would have brought about. It goes without saying 
that the kinesthetic and sound stimulations which are al- 
ways (normally) the simultaneous results of speaking, come 
to take each other's place with absolute definiteness on the 
sensory side of all habit functions in which either the one 
or the other plays a role. 

Moreover, it is not even necessary, in order that the 
speech organs may play their parts in generalizations and 
abstractions, for their muscles to contract at all. It is quite 
possible, tho not as yet a proved fact, that nervous cur- 
rents, after having passed into muscles (motor points) may 
directly under certain favorable conditions pass over into 



362 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

the sensory points of the same muscle fibers without caus- 
ing them to contract at aU, — and then pass on from these 
sensory points in the usual manner. If that is true in cer- 
tain cases, these muscle fibers would act simply as if they 
were higher centers within the nervous system. Nothing is 
thus far definitely known about this question. 

In the development of generalized (abstract) nervous 
functions an enormous step in advance is made when man- 
kind invents script. The written language can accomplish 
much that is denied the spoken language. First, it enhances 
the preservation of the Other-One's generalizations for his 
own later use. Secondly, it removes practically all the 
Hmits of space and time from mutual signaling among sev- 
eral individuals, and thereby also removes all limits from 
placing one individual's generalizations at the disposal of 
other individuals, thus saving them in the case of innumer- 
able generalizations the time necessary for their invention. 

As to the preservation of any generalization for the in- 
dividual's own use, it is plain that, as long as generaHza- 
tion is mediated only by the spoken language, it depends 
exclusively on the properties of his own nervous system. 
Just so long will the generalization persist, as a path of low 
resistance, established by the speech function, leads from 
the sensory points of, say, hunger to a common central 
point, and another one from a common central point to 
that vast number of responses previously indicated. But 
such a path of low resistance can continue to exist only if 
it is constantly re-established, so to speak ; for we know 
that a path whose resistance has been lowered by individual 
experience tends to resume gradually its original high re- 
sistance. "The experience is forgotten." 

After the individual has acquired— by a simple replace- 
ment of response — to the sight of the wTitten word the same 
manifold possibility of responding as to the sound of the 



PEESEEVING GEKEEALIZATlOlSrS 3i63l 

same word, the time limit of preserving the generahzation 
depends no longer on the delicate properties of his nervous 
system, which is so easily influenced by new experiences as 
well as by normal and abnormal physical processes like 
fatigue and disease, but on the physical properties of the 
material on which he has written the word. It is true that, 
quite recently, one has learned by phonographic records to 
preserve the spoken word. But the limitations of this 
method are obvious, and, whatever may be its significance 
for the future, in the past at least the individual has had 
to depend for the preservation of his generalizations on the 
written word, the memorandum-book. 

Of course, we use here and in the following the term 
'Svord" in a very wide sense, including therein all written 
symbols of any kind, especially those of mathematics, even 
all kinds of geometrical drawings, and the diagrams and 
symbolic letters of physics, chemistry, and all other sciences. 

Secondly, we stated that by the substitution of the written 
for the spoken word communication of the individual's 
generalizations to other individuals has transgressed almost 
all limits of space and time. As we read a letter despatched 
from the opposite side of the globe, we learn what gen- 
eralizations were most powerful in the nervous system of 
the individual who signed the letter, at the time — weeks 
ago — when it was written. As we peruse the book of an 
author long since deceased, we learn what generalizations 
of his own he thought desirable to communicate to his con- 
temporaries and those who were to Hve after him. As we 
uncover the tombs of the Egyptian kings, we learn what 
generalizations chiefly determined their actions thousands 
of years ago, while they were preparing for the common 
destiny of all individual life, for death. 

Posterity, opening our books, may learn what generaliza- 
tions affected our nervous system so strongly that, in addi- 



364 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

tion to using them in our individual life, we had them re- 
produced in the printer's office. Thus all mankind becomes 
a unit, spatially and temporally. The individual's experi- 
ences are no longer useful to him and to the few people of 
his direct environment alone. All other individuals of the 
present and future may profit by them. Science is the sum 
total of all those generalizations which the experience of 
mankind has invented, selected, and collected as the most 
useful for the control of the muscular response called forth 
by sensory excitation. 

The statement of the last sentence calls for further 
elaboration since the work of a scientist, especially to those 
not very familiar with it, seems to be altogether different 
from that of the ordinary man, say, the farmer plowing his 
field, — seems to belong to a category of activity other than 
that of motor (muscular) response to sensory excitation. 

When, in the evolution of civilization, the writing of 
words and other symbols of generalization has firmly es- 
tablished itself in a sufficiently large group of men, in a 
tribe or a nation, the written symbols become a special class 
of important objects to which, however artificial their ori- 
gin, man has to learn to respond in order to be successful 
in the struggle for life, as formerly he had to learn to 
respond to those objects alone which have their origin in 
nature. 

Moreover, young people selecting a class of objects to 
which to devote their lives as specialists may now not only 
select from the natural objects, but may choose even this 
class. Their life work, then, consists in responding to writ- 
ten symbols by writing symbols and, of course, also by 
pronouncing them, as in oral teaching. The scientist's 
work, aside from experimenting, that is, testing the value of 
his generalizations by skillful appeals for an answer to 
nature, consists in combining, on writing paper, symbols al- 



GENEBALIZATI0:^S RIVAL NATURAL OBJECTS 3661 

ready existing into new groups and inventing for each group 
of generalizations which has been demonstrated by experi- 
ment to be a useful combination of symbols, a new name, 
that is, a new symbol of generalization. 

All this is, clearly, motor activity in response to sensory 
excitation. The only distinguishing features are these, that 
the scientist's motor activity does not require muscles of 
any great strength, and that it does require an enormous 
amount of learning, of variations of response, before it can 
begin to be of any value to humanity. 

Let us take an example from the most ancient of all the 
sciences, which, notwithstanding its age, is still and will 
always be the foundation of all others, — from arithmetic. 
No one doubts that the most ancient symbols for larger and 
smaller groups of things were diagrams of familiar objects. 
The Roman numerals V and X, for example, are diagrams 
of one hand with fingers spread out and of two hands united 
in opposite positions at their wrists. Even if these dia- 
grams, originally, signified only a quantity portable in one 
hand and a quantity portable in both, they would already 
be generalizations, for many are the things or substances 
which can be carried by hand. 

If not at once, at a later period, these diagrams, came to 
signify five and ten. They are then a step further removed 
from natural experience ; they have assumed to a further 
degree the meaning of a generalization (or, if you prefer, 
of an abstraction). When a person counts, up to five or 
any other number, he enounces in regular order one of the 
words of a series which he must previously have learned, 
while he removes to a position of repose, say, with his finger 
on the table, or with his turning eye in the subjective field 
of vision, just one more each time of the objects counted. 
When written symbols like our Arabic figures are substi- 
tuted for the spoken words, new generalizations are made 
possible. 



366 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

What is the significance of the plus sign? If we write it 
in 7+8, we invite the reader to count a group of seven 
things of his own choice and another group of eight as if 
they were only a single group of countable things. The 
plus sign, then, is a generalization for any kind of sensory- 
motor activity arranging the things as if they were a single 
series and counting them thus. The minus sign is a gen- 
eralization of a similar kind. In 7—4, for example, we 
express the question: How many times more do you count 
after 4, till you enounce 7? The minus sign, then, is a 
generalization for any kind of sensory-motor activity ar- 
ranging the things of one series as if they were two series. 

The multiplication sign presupposes the experience of 
the plus sign. By writing ?)Y^7 we invite the reader to 
perform the work of adding 7 plus 7 plus 7. Modern 
mathematics has greatly increased the number of such gen- 
eralizations, — think only of logarithms, not to mention high- 
er mathematics. Yet by degrees they can all be reduced to 
the relatively simple activity of counting a series of things. 

Another example of a scientific generalization might be 
taken from mechanics. Remember the formula y2mv^ , gen- 
erally used in measuring our experience of ''force.'' 

Man, in his intercourse with nature, learns how to resist 
moving objects and also how to utilize the motion of objects 
(a hammer, for example) for his own purposes. He learns 
that he has to exert more muscular energy if the object 
resisted is heavier, and also that his work is more effective 
if he uses a heavier tool. He generahzes his experiences 
of resistance to objects and of work by the aid of objects — 
experiences to which he has already given the general name 
of ''force'' — by pronouncing the word "mass" in order to 
express their quantitative aspect. In writing this word he 
abbreviates it by writing simply m. 



THE GENERALIZATIONS OF MECHANICS 367 

By further experience man learns that he has to exert 
more muscular energy and also that his work is more ef- 
fective, if the object in question moves more quickly. These 
experiences, in addition, he generalizes in writing by unit- 
ing the symbols ''mass" and 'Velocity'' in a single formula, 
conecting them by a sign of multiplication. 

At our present time, however, one does not write simply 
mXv, but mX^v% multiplying v with itself. This is done be- 
cause the formula my(v\ in algebraic relations with other 
formulas expressing other important experiences with heavy 
bodies, is in general more convenient. Still, this greater 
convenience was only gradually recognized by scientists. 
Two hundred years ago the question was debated in heated 
controversies between the most distinguished scientists 
whether the symbol mz> or the symbol mz>^ was a more use- 
ful tool of generalizing human experience, or, as they ex- 
pressed it, — talking as if force were a measurable thing 
among the other objects in nature, instead of a mere gen- 
eralization invented by man — "whether force was propor- 
tional to velocity or to the square of velocity.'' 

At present the latter formula is generally preferred, but 
slightly modified by the addition of the factor ^. This 
simplifies again the algebraic operations, for the formula 
y2mv^ can be put down directly as equal to a certain other 
very important formula of mechanics. The usefulness of 
the equation thus formulated is the only reason why our 
scientists have become accustomed to using exclusively the 
formula yzmv" in their generalizations of the quantitative 
aspect of the qualitative generalization of "force." (We 
may mention, by the way, that the use of the equation in 
question gradually brought about a change of name of the 
generalization ^wz^^ so that it is nowadays called "work" 
in the text-books of physics.) 



368 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

Force, therefore, is by no means, as some speculative 
philosophers would make us believe, a reality given by na- 
ture, and truly measurable only by a single formula, but a 
mere abstraction created by man to suit his needs, and ex- 
pressed by that combination of algebraic symbols which 
best suits his needs, practical and theoretical, — an abstrac- 
tion from experiences so varied and complex that with- 
out this generaHzation we could not respond to the quantita- 
tive aspect of any one of them with any definiteness, we 
could not measure them. 

In school and all through life we find ourselves compelled 
to respond to traditional audible and visible symbols of 
generalization as well as to the situations presented by 
nature. We gradually learn to respond to these kinds of 
stimulations most successfully : we acquire scientific habits. 
An example of a habit of responding to symbols of gen- 
eralization — or rather an example of a large group of such 
habits — is the multiplication table. To the phrase ''seven 
times nine'' we at once add, by habit acquired, the word 
"sixty-three,'' without having first to do any counting, thus 
saving a large amount of time. 

In a similar way one learns, long before he acquires the 
multiplication table, to combine words into sentences and 
sentences into periods, and to draw conclusions expressed 
in further sentences, without first having to devote time 
and energy to perceiving the things which are meant by 
those generalizing words and sentences. 

The enormous advantage of substituting this handling of 
words for the cumbrous handling of things is clear enough, 
but the danger of speculation is clear too, — the danger of 
combining words and of thus drawing conclusions, that is, 
of expecting the things to agree with the last group of 
words manufactured by us, for no better reason than this, 
that we know our succession of sentences to have been con- 



HANDLII^G WOEDS 369 

structed according to the rules of grammar, syntax, and 
logic. 

This danger does not exist in the case of the multiplica- 
tion table. Here, in our most elementary quantitative gen- 
eralizations, things always agree indeed with our conclu- 
sions. But our purely qualitative generalizations are so in- 
exact that the things, when we perceive them, often turn 
out to be quite different from what we, guided only by our 
habits of handling words, expected to find them. 



CHAPTER XVII 

1^ THE Other-One is Born Blind, or Deap^, — 
What Then? 

That the loss of any sense organ involves many diffi- 
culties in the Other-One's life we know from experience. 
And that is also to be expected as soon as we understand 
that his life is a continuous reaction to excitations occur- 
ring in his sense organs. But a detailed discussion of these 
general difficulties would be out of place in an introductory 
text-book like this. It would lead us into the medical and 
other sciences. 

A reason, however, for discussing here certain conse- 
quences of a loss of certain sense organs is the fact that 
this loss may seriously interfere with the Other-One's liv- 
ing as a member of human society. The signaling reflexes, 
we have seen, are of particularly great interest to the 
psychologist because of the role they play in establishing 
social relations among the individuals. While discussing 
the relative value of the visual and auditory signaling re- 
flexes, we had to point out that, contrary to our first ex- 
pectation, the auditory signaling reflexes seem to be more 
significant than the visual signaling reflexes. Keeping this 
in mind, we no longer wonder at the fact — not statistically 
proved or provable, but generally acknowledged — that deaf 
people are more likely to be unsocial, morose, suspicious of 
their fellow men, than blind people. Of course, if people 
in adult life lose one of these tw^o senses, they are during 
the period directly following the loss more conspicuously 

370 



LOSS OF THE SENSES 3i71 

affected by the loss of sight than by the loss of hearing. 
This is natural, for the former loss requires in general a 
much more profound change in the manner of performing 
one's daily routine work. But after this adaptation has 
occurred, and the individual has become to some extent rec- 
onciled to his loss, the change in personal character above 
referred to as distinguishing the deaf from the blind is 
obvious enough and is clearly the result of the great sig- 
nificance of auditory signaling for social life. 

But in this book our chief interest in the loss of various 
sense organs has its basis in the fact, discussed in the last 
chapter, that the Other-One's supremacy on earth among 
all the species of animals depends on his acquisition of 
language. Without his language that feature distinguishing 
man from the animals, that is, the use of generalization and 
abstraction, his ^'thoughtfulness," would not exist. And in 
order to acquire language, all sense organs are not of equal 
importance. 

Having once acquired a spoken or written language and 
having learned to use it for generalization and abstraction, 
the Other-One may then lose his sense organs needed for 
the acquisition of speech, or of its equivalent, script. And 
still he would continue to use generalization. It is not the 
adult, therefore, who concerns us here in this discussion of 
the effect of the loss of sight or hearing. It is the child who 
becomes blind before learning to read and write and the 
infant who becomes deaf before learning to speak the lan- 
guage of his family, who interest us here. Briefly speaking 
(but allowing for a certain extension of the time of loss 
beyond the time of birth, as hinted at in the last sentence), 
we may ask: How different will the Other-One be if he 
is born blind, or born deaf, or born both blind and deaf ? 



372 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

The signaling reflexes which the Other-One possesses are 
far too few and too simple to serve as the mediating link, 
studied in the preceding chapter, which establishes that 
nervous function deserving a special name and given the 
name of ''generahzation/' The Other-One must learn to 
speak, he must acquire a relatively extensive complex of 
habits, ''language," in order to generalize. For acquiring 
language habits he depends largely on "imitative reflexes," 
since schools, in which language is, or languages are, arti- 
ficially taught, are a very recent invention of mankind. In 
spite of all the vague glorifications of the ''instinct of imita- 
tion," man, as we have convinced ourselves, virtually has 
no other imitative reflexes than the auditory ones. Without 
having the sense of hearing, therefore, man can not by re- 
flexes imitatingly acquire a language. 

If the Other-One is born deaf, he never acquires a lan- 
guage unless he is sent to school. Being born blind, on the 
other hand, does not interfere with his learning to speak 
the language of his people. The lack of schooling, there- 
fore, has a much more profound effect on the deaf-born 
than on the blind-born. The lack of schooling condemns 
the deaf-born child to remain intellectually on the level of 
animals. When we use here the term "intellectual" or "in- 
tellect," we use it as an abstraction referring to the con- 
crete fact th.'it a being uses in his life, to a larger or lesser 
extent, generalizations and abstractions. He who deprives 
a deaf-born child of schooling, deprives him of what makes 
him a human being, of his "intellect." He degrades him 
to the level of animals. If in a modern civilized state the 
question could be raised at all, whether it is more indis- 
pensable to have schools for the deaf or schools for the 
blind, the answer is easy to give. The school for the blind 
raises an intellectual, "thoughtful," human being to a mere^ 



BLIND OR DEAF 373 



ly higher level of intelligence. The school for the deaf 
raises to a human level a being who would, without it, re- 
main on the level of the animals. 

The fact just stated has always been recognized in human 
tradition. In former centuries, it was customary to say, 
on hearing of the birth of a deaf child, that the parents 
were the unfortunate possessors of a being which had in- 
herited their material form, but to which the Creator had 
refused a *'soul.'' In other words, they had an animal look- 
ing like a man. 

That people should have expressed the expectation that 
a being would never in his life use generalization and ab- 
straction, by saying that he had been given no "soul,'' would 
strike us merely as a rather ridiculous kind of superstition, 
if that manner of referring to these unfortunates had not 
had its serious practical consequences. When a being is so 
unsocial as a deaf being generally is, so unresponsive, so 
unteachable, there is no great inducement for his people to 
make the sacrifices involved and give him a schooling. But 
since this disinclination of the parents to the establishment 
of a school for their deaf children, or to the appointment of 
a tutor for a deaf child, was still fortifi.ed by the use of the 
abstraction ''lack of a soul,'' it is no wonder that the educa- 
tion of the deaf-born child was something unheard of in 
ancient and medieval education and is not an outstanding 
feature in the history even of modern education. Who but 
a fool, it seems, would think of appointing a tutor for 
animals, — and deaf-born children used to be regarded as 
animals. 

The men who could free themselves from tradition, look 
the facts in the face, and recognize that deaf-born children 
were as teachable as others, that they merely had to be 
taught by different methods, may well be counted among the 
geniuses of mankind. That alone, however, is not the rea- 



374 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-0:^srE 

son why we mention the names of some of these men be- 
low. We mention them also because in the history of the 
education of the deaf we have a beautiful illustration of the 
fact, innumerable times repeated in human history and 
psychologically interesting, that a vague rumor that some- 
thing apparently impossible has been done somewhere some- 
how, and that therefore it can be done, has often encour- 
aged a man to rediscover something independently and to 
claim the priority of the discovery quite honestly, without 
being the first discoverer. 

It is commonly believed that the discoverer of the pos- 
sibility of educating the deaf-born was the French priest 
De TEpee. But, that almost exclusively his name is con- 
nected with this discovery, is due only to the fact that he 
was the first who, in addition to instructing the deaf, also 
instructed those who were willing to become teachers of 
the deaf. And these teachers of the deaf carried the name 
of their teacher all over the world and made it famous. 

The honor of the first discovery, so far as our present 
knowledge reaches, belongs to a Spanish Benedictine monk, 
Pedro Ponce, called de Leon, who died in 1584. How this 
discovery struck those contemporaries who in spite of the 
insufficient means of spreading ideas in those times heard 
of it, can be seen from the phrases used, in a book describ- 
ing the totality of the work of the Benedictine order and 
published about 1600. ''Our monk, fray Pedro Ponce de 
Leon," says the author, Antonio Perez, himself a Bene- 
dictine, ''created that marvelous art of giving speech to the 
dumb. Thereby he has won the admiration of all who have 
heard of it, abroad as well as at home, on account of this 
wonderful display of genius. Yet he never succeeded in 
instructing others in the art. However, we know how much 
more difficult even than to practice oneself it is to train 
other masters in one's profession.'' 



PONCE. AND BONET 375 

The honor of being the country of the second discovery 
of the art also belongs to Spain. And not only this, but 
also the honor of the publication of the first text-book for 
giving this instruction, and an elaborate and very suitable 
text-book, too. In the year 1620 appeared in Madrid the 
book by Juan Pablo Bonet whose title in literal translation 
is "Reduction of the letters, — and art of teaching the mute 
to speak.'' The book has been translated into English, 
French, and German. The rather curious title means that 
the author wants to make clear that the teacher of the 
dumb must himself begin with acquiring a knowledge of 
phonetics, because he has to teach his pupils the often vary- 
ing sounds represented in script by each single letter of the 
alphabet. There can be no doubt that Bonet had heard it 
rumored that someone somewhere had succeeded somehow 
in teaching the dumb to speak. But he honestly redis- 
covered the method and rightfully claims the honor of his 
discovery. His first pupil was the brother of a nobleman, 
the Constable of Castile, whose secretary he was. The 
pupil had been deaf since the age of two years. 

Bonet's book consists of two parts. The first part begins 
with the history of the art of writing and gives an exposi- 
tion of phonetics, a little imperfect from the modern point 
of view, but nevertheless quite remarkable. The second 
part discusses the causes of mutism, the auxiliary use of 
the manual alphabet, lip reading, the formation of the 
separate sounds and their production in series. He gives 
a complete Spanish grammar adapted to the special needs 
of the deaf-mute pupil, and this part of the book is to be 
used as the regular text-book by the pupil as well as the 
teacher. The method is similar to that which goes nowa- 
days under the name of the Berlitz method of teaching for- 
eign languages. The text-book contains even a chapter on 
arithmetic. 



376 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

Two further facts will be mentioned here in order to 
show how advanced the thought of Bonet was. He uses 
for the instruction of his pupils such modern aids as a 
flexible leather model of the tongue. And the modern edu- 
cational psychologist reads with astonishment the follow- 
ing heading of the tenth chapter : "Reason why normal 
children are so slow in learning to read, and discovery that 
this is due to the difficulty which we create by teaching 
them the names of the letters first." 

In the year 1622 another Spanish teacher of the deaf, 
Manuel Ramirez, became known and claimed for himself 
the discovery of the art of teaching the dumb to speak. 

In 1657 Franciscus Mercurius van Helmont, son of the 
famous Flemish physician and chemist, published a book 
concerning the education of the deaf, but concerned him- 
self only with lip reading. 

In 1660 Wallis, a mathematician and also author of an 
English grammar which begins with an elaborate treatise 
on phonetics, thought that he was the first inventor of the 
art, having succeeded in teaching several deaf-mutes to 
speak. 

In 1670 an Italian, Lana, claimed to be the first to have 
taught mutes to speak. 

In 1690 the Swiss physician Amman, who spent the latter 
part of his life in Holland, had to treat a girl for deafness 
and succeeded in teaching her to speak. In 1692 he pub- 
lished a book ''Surdus loquens'' and, as usual in these 
cases, thought that he himself was the first inventor of the 
art. 

In 1748 the Portuguese Pereira became famous in Paris 
as teacher of deaf-mutes. The history of his career is in- 
teresting. He happened to read in a book by the Benedic- 
tine monk Feyjoo a notice about Pedro Ponce. Thereupon 



TEACHEES OF THE DUMB 377 

he tried to teach mutes, succeeded, and later was praised 
by many as the first discoverer of the art. 

In 1761 Ernauld, of Bordeaux, presented to the French 
Academy of Sciences a communication in which he men- 
tioned some previous teachers of deaf-mutes, but declared 
himself the inventor of a new method of teaching lip read- 
ing. He did not use a manual alphabet at all, but based 
his instruction on lip reading. This application of lip read- 
ing he regarded — and to a slight extent probably with justi- 
fication — as his own contribution to the art of teaching the 
deaf. 

De TEpee published his book in 1776. He died in 1790. 
He was the first teacher of deaf-mutes who became the 
father of a training school for teachers of deaf-mutes. Sev-* 
eral teachers trained by him established themselves success- 
fully in Italy. Emperor Joseph II of Austria sent the 
Abbot Storch to Paris in order to import the methods of 
teaching the dumb into his dominions. Another author of 
much merit concerning this phase of education, Andres, in 
a letter written in 1794 to the wife of the Spanish ambas- 
sador in Vienna, characterizes the work of the French priest 
by calling it ''unquestionably the most methodical and per- 
fect," while upholding the priority claim of his country- 
man, Pedro Ponce. 

A slightly prolonged occupation, like the one to which we 
have just submitted, with this matter helps to impress upon 
us the enormous significance for the ''human intellect'' of 
language, that is, of speech and script. Nothing can show 
this significance as clearly as the enthusiasm of those who 
by one accident or another were led to, and by patience 
succeeded in, teaching the dumb to speak, transforming as 
by a miracle animals into human beings. But on the other 
hand, it also impresses us with the enormous difficulty of 
convincing the great crowd of which humanity consists, that 



378 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

herein lies the main difference between animal life and 
human life. ''Do animals think?'' is a question often asked. 
But few have always been those who could see that this 
was the same question as ''Do animals speak?" 

The art of teaching the dumb to speak, once discovered, 
ought to have spread thru the great crowd of humanity 
like a religious gospel. It ought to have become a common- 
place at once, because of the psychological implication of 
the fact of human intelligence with this art. But the great 
crowd did not see the implication. The miraculous art 
satisfied the crowd's curiosity for a few years and was soon 
entirely forgotten, with the result that the art had to be re- 
discovered so many times. Even modern psychology, altho 
it has given considerable attention to language, is only slow- 
ly beginning to recognize that the "human intellect" is 
human language, that what is popularly called "mental" 
and popularly opposed to "physical or physiological," is 
merely that which in scientific psychology is found to be 
cnaracterized by consisting mainly of language functions. 
Compare "memory" with "manual habits." In habits of 
"remembering" language functions prevail over the func- 
tions of other motor organs. That is the only difference. 

We have above mentioned only incidentally the substi- 
tutes or surrogates for normal speech and script, invented 
for the use of those deprived of one or both of the higher 
senses. An introductory psychology is not the place to dis- 
cuss details which are mainly of technological importance. 
Let us make only a few remarks about them. The manual 
alphabet serves as a surrogate for speech. But it is a visi- 
ble kind of speech instead of an auditory one. It has all 
the general drawbacks .of visual compared with audible 
signals. It can not rely, either, on the advantage of ap- 
pealing to imitative reflexes, which is possessed by auditory 
stimulations. The execution of complex manual signals is, 



SUEROGATES FOR SPEECH 379 

further, very slow in comparison with the execution of 
signals by the vocal organs. Nevertheless, even the ac- 
quisition of nothing language-like but the ''speech'' by means 
of the manual alphabet will raise a dumb person above the 
level of an animal, give him a certain degree of human in- 
telligence. 

The raised script of the blind serves as a substitute for 
visible script. Its importance for the intellect of the blind, 
however, is only relative, since the blind, possessing speech, 
possess thereby also the use of generalization and abstrac- 
tion without being taught to read and write raised script. 
The intellectual level of an uneducated blind-born person 
is essentially the same as that of an uneducated normal 
person, whereas the uneducated deaf-born person, as we 
have seen, is comparable to an animal. 

Most difficult, naturally, is the education of those who 
have lost both the higher senses at birth or not much later. 
In these cases signaling is possible only by appealing to the 
sense of touch. The first speech surrogate therefore is 
based on writing a short word with one's finger on the 
palm of the hand of the person to be educated and induc- 
ing him (since the ''localizing reflex" causes him to imitate 
the stimulation only with remote exactness) to imitate by 
writing thru habit on his hand the same word with his own 
finger. Later the process of education becomes more simi- 
lar to that of the dumb. To what height one can develop 
the intellect even of a person who has lacked virtually from 
birth both sight and hearing, is illustrated by the example 
of our countrywoman Helen Keller, who has become fam- 
ous even as an author. 

In this connection it is well to point out why the senses 
of sight and hearing, to which we have repeatedly referred 
as the "higher senses," deserve this name. It is not that 
these sense organs or their functions have any property 



380 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ON^E 

which elevates them physically, chemically, or biologically 
above the other senses. They are rather those senses which 
can be spared most readily without destroying the possi- 
bility of life. They are higher only in the sense that the 
particular feature distinguishing man from animals, the 
human intellect, that is, the nervous function of general- 
ization and abstraction, is by far more dependent on the 
function of the organs of sight and hearing than on that of 
the other sense organs. But even this dependence is not 
absolute, since the intellect can be developed, by the in- 
vention and application of the proper kind of educational 
art, even in those who lack these two senses. 

The higher senses, then, are simply those senses on which 
the development of the intellect depends in the natural and 
usual course of events. These are the senses which man- 
kind particularly needs for ''being thoughtful/' 



CHAPTER XVIII 

The Other-One WaIvKS in his SivEEp. Disturbances oe 
PersonaIvITy. Abnormalities. 

There are variations in the Other-One's customary mode 
of reacting to stimuH which belong to a class different from 
that of willing and learning. They are technically called 
"symptoms of neurosis." That is, they are abnormal. They 
result from an abnormal or diseased condition of the nerv- 
ous system. Our chief interest in abnormalities lies in 
the fact that they may illustrate some of the normal func- 
tions hitherto discussed in so striking a manner that ex- 
amples from the behavior of the Other-One, as he normal- 
ly stands before us, are not of equal illustrative value. 

The layman thinks, when he thinks of psychological ab- 
normalities, first and mainly of the ''somnambulist," in liter- 
al translation, sleep-walker. The somnambulist is popular- 
ly supposed to have been disturbed in his sleep by the moon. 
Therefore he is also called a "lunatic." And institutions for 
the confinement and treatment of people suffering from 
nervous diseases are in some regions even officially still 
called "lunatic asylums." A most perfect sample descrip- 
tion of the symptoms of a certain type of nervous disease 
is found in Shakespeare's "Macbeth." 

"Since his majesty went into the field," the gentlewoman 
reports to the doctor, "I have seen her rise from her bed, 
throw her nightgown upon her, unlock her closet, take forth 
paper, fold it, write upon't, read it, afterwards seal it, and 
again return to bed; yet all this while in a most fast 
sleep." — Shakespeare here gives us in the gentlewoman's 
talk an exact sample of the popular attitude in a case like 

381 



382 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

this. The uncritical observer of the somnambuHst always 
exaggerates when he tells what he observed. ''She is in a 
most fast sleep." As a matter of fact, we do not call that 
sleep when the Other-One is so active as one is in writing 
and sealing letters. What the gentlewoman really ought 
to say in accordance with the truth w^ould be something 
more moderate, like this : ''Considering that we regard al- 
most everybody at that time of the night as asleep unless 
he is dressed for and doing special night duty, as a w^atch- 
man's ; and considering further that a minute before writ- 
ing she actually was in bed and a few minutes later she was 
in bed again ; and considering that she did not say to me 
'How do you do,' as she does when she meets me ordina- 
rily, but passed me as if I w^ere a wooden pillar ; and con- 
sidering that she treats us (speaking to the doctor) just 
now with the same slight attention; and considering that 
she talks now before us of such suspicious things as the 
spots on her hands, and of the unexpectedly large quantity 
of blood which the old man had, and that she rubs her 
hands as if they needed a cleaning — I should say that she 
was not then and is not now exactly what one would call 
'aw^ake to the situation.' If we were her enemies, she 
would already have given herself away." 

In the popular (not recognizable as scientific) psychology 
sleep is not a purely relative amount of being active, or 
rather of being inactive, but is a specific "state of the soul." 
To the "popular" psychologist the most curious fact then 
seems to be that here a "soul" is found to be "not fully 
awake" or "asleep" or "subconscious" in a body which is 
not lying in bed, but standing up and even walking about. 
Therefore "somnambulism." 

To the psychologist who is a man of science it makes no 
great difference whether you call that observation sleep or, 
better, relative inactivity, or give it no name at all. All 



SOMNAMBULISM 38S 

that interests him is the fact that the Other-One's reactions 
observed are reactions very unusual in such a situation. 

Usually a person who has his eyes open says ''How do 
you do" when entering a room in which there are acquain- 
tances. Lady Macbeth, altho her eyes are open, addresses 
her acquaintances no more that she would address a piece 
of furniture. A murderer fearing discovery of his deed 
ordinarily abstains from loud comments on the quantity of 
blood of his victim. Lady Macbeth makes such remarks 
in the presence of others. What the psychologist observes 
is t-hat the stimuli are not adequate to the reactions, that 
the reactions are those which one would expect of Lady 
Macbeth only in an entirely different situation. We have, 
therefore, a case perfectly similar to that in a previous 
chapter where a man stands still on a busy street where 
everybody walks, and answers the traffic policeman ''It's 
your move." Lady Macbeth is obviously "preoccupied." 

But the difference between her preoccupation and that 
which occurs in a normal person — as in that chess enthu- 
siast — consists in the fact that normal preoccupation rarely 
lasts more than a few minutes, in exceedingly rare cases 
(where it becomes a "joke") as long as a few hours. But 
in a case like that of Lady Macbeth, in a neurosis, the 
preoccupation lasts days, weeks, or months, and even years. 
In saying that it lasts so long we do not wish to be tmder- 
stood as meaning that it lasts in unvarying strength. There 
may be ups and downs in that preoccupation. Neverthe- 
less, it often seems to be the same preoccupation after 
weeks or months, having fluctuated meanwhile, but with- 
out having been clearly interrupted and fortuitously re- 
created. 

If we hold the contact improvement in the synapses of 
any higher centers responsible for any symptoms of pre- 
occupation, it follows that these neuron terminals must have 



384 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

in these abnormal cases an inherited tendency to ''stick'' 
after having extended in consequence of a nervous flux 
passing thru them. Normally they would recede within a 
few seconds or minutes after the cessation of the nervous 
currents. These neurons in the case of this neurosis seem 
to have lost this ability to recede again. The consequence 
is that, whatever nervous current passes thru the nervous 
system, finds thru these synapses a path more conductive 
than it ought to be. The result is that certain reactions 
occur with a frequency out of proportion to their proba- 
bilitv as reflexes or estabHshed habits. 

One naturally asks, then, ''Is this loss of ability on the 
part of neurons to withdraw their terminal branches after 
cessation of the flux with the normal speed, restricted in 
the individual to a particular nerve center?" The clinical 
observations show that it is not so restricted, but that this 
is an abnormal property of all the higher centers. The 
particular kind of preoccupation, Hke "talking of blood and 
wiping the hands," depends merely on circumstances (of 
specially effective stimulation applied under specially favor- 
able conditions of the organism). Under other circum- 
stances establishing a preoccupation of this patient other 
reactions would have appeared as the symptoms. But the 
tendency toward abnormal preoccupation is a general tend- 
ency of the nervous system belonging to that individual. 
Making use of the ancient term "hysteria" (very absurd in 
its literal meaning, which is womb trouble), this neurosis 
is often pronounced to be a "tendency toward hysterical 
symptoms." It is actually as common in men as in women. 

Examples of the clinical observations referred to in the 
preceding paragraph are the following, reported by the 
French psychologist Pierre Janet, to whom we owe the most 
elucidating studies of this matter. A lady forty-three years 
old has terrible fits in which convulsions and bowlings 



Abnormal pREoccupATiOLisr 385 

mingle together for fifteen or twenty hours as a reaction 
to such simple stimulations as the mentioning of a calendar 
date before her, as the pronunciation of the words ''love/' 
''affection/' "happiness/' as a dog barking on the street, 
the sight of a cat passing by on the street, the pronuncia- 
tion of the words ''dog" and "cat," and many others to 
which no normal person would respond by convulsions and 
bowlings. It all becomes plausible when we know her his- 
tory, in which a certain event occurred in which stimuli of 
this very kind belonged to a total situation calling forth a 
mixture of extreme disappointment . and anger with fate, 
thus establishing preoccupation in a particular sensory-mo- 
tor direction. A dear friend had died. Only one souvenir 
from him, an old dog, remained. Then the dog died, in his 
turn, on a carpet. And the lady lay down on the carpet 
on which the dog had died, and remained there for sixty 
days without consenting to sit at table for a meal or to take 
the usual care of herself. The case is essentially the same 
as that of the chess player, an extraordinary readiness for 
a certain kind of sensory-motor function. Only every as- 
pect of it is more extreme. 

In another patient the reactions and the stimuli differ, 
not because the tendency toward preoccupation is a differ- 
ent one by heredity, but because the life history is a differ- 
ent one. The sight of a flame, sometimes of a match only, 
brings about a particular fit in a patient who has been af- 
fected by a conflagration. And, as the peculiar power of 
a special stimulus, so the nature of the reaction, altho first 
seeming entirely irrational, explains itself as soon as the 
patient's life history is known. "There's method" in what 
seemed irrational madness. A patient presents an intense 
tremor of the right hand. It is finally discovered that the 
tremor started from a long continued practice in so-called 
automatic writing in order to question spirits. The tremor 



386 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

is nothing but the quick execution of writing movements. 
Put a pencil in the patient's right hand, and the tremor is 
transformed into writing. If the poHceman had asked the 
chess enthusiast for a match, or for the time, there would 
probably have been no occasion for a joke, because there 
would have been no occasion for ''method in madness.'' 

A patient in her nocturnal somnambulism makes a pecu- 
liar movement up and down with her foot, makes also a 
turning movement at her right wrist and simultaneously says 
all the time : ''I must work, I must work." — One evening, 
as a girl of sixteen, she had heard her parents bewail their 
poverty. She was very much moved, and from that time 
had at night her ''somnambulism.'' The trade of the girl 
was that of making doll's eyes, and, for this purpose, she 
worked a lathe by treading a pedal with her foot and turn- 
ing a fly-wheel with her right hand. If she had only tossed 
in bed as we all do now and then, we would not call it 
somnambulism. But our tossing is neither more nor less 
mysterious. Only our tossing would not illustrate such an 
extreme case of preoccupation. 

A man is paralyzed on his left side. He explains it as 
caused by a tremendous shock. But the real explanation is 
abnormally extended preoccupation, for which his nervous 
system certainly had a congenital predisposition. Travel- 
ing by rail he had done an imprudent thing: while the 
train was running, he had gotten down on the outer step. 
At that moment he became aware that the train was about 
to enter a tunnel. It occurred to him that his left side, 
which projected, was going to be knocked and crushed 
against the tunnel. He swooned away, but happily at that 
moment was pulled back by others into the carriage. His 
left side was not even grazed. Nevertheless, the muscles 
on that side no longer contracted. The preoccupation here 
obviously consisted in the synapses leading every nervous 



HYSTEEICAL SYMPTOMS 387 

current which normally would reach those muscles, into a 
certain high nerve center whence it could further distribute 
itself in almost any motor direction rather than into the 
''paralyzed" muscles. 

That the congenital tendency of certain people to suffer 
from preoccupation of an abnormal character exists in their 
whole nervous system and is not merely a tendency con- 
fined to a part of the nervous system, is proved by other 
facts than the definite relation found between the special 
sensory-motor disturbance and the fortuitous life history 
of each patient. It is also proved by the transferability or 
transmutability of the symptom. It is often easy, thru some 
psychological process or other, to cause such or such a de- 
terminate symptom to disappear. Besides, the symptom 
often disappears of itself, in consequence of an emotion, of 
some surprise, or even without reason. But when a symp- 
tom has disappeared, especially when it has disappeared too 
quickly, another neurotic symptom often takes the place of 
the first. The patient is "cured'' of vomiting and now suf- 
fers from delirium. He had a contracture in the neck, a 
stiff neck, and now has a contracture in one hand. A man 
had hysterical coughing and now has crises of sleep, sleeps 
a week or longer continuously. A man had a foot con- 
tractured and was cured thru a somewhat mysterious pro*- 
cess which frightened him. He now can walk freely, but 
has lost his voice. When, after three months, his voice 
returns, he has stomach trouble and abdominal contractures. 
Another man had contractures of the trunk and now, being 
cured of the first trouble, no longer responds to anything 
acting on his eyes, — he is virtually blind. 

All this is comprehensible. There are several ''preoc- 
cupations,'' but owing to the law of "deflection," which is 
effective in the neurotic as in the normal person, the nerv- 
ous current which happens to be strong, prevents the other 



388 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-OKE 

currents from reaching any considerable strength of flux 
and thus keeps the other "preoccupations^' from developing 
for the present to any conspicuous height. Any preoc- 
cupation is anyway, as we pointed out, nothing constant, 
but is fluctuating in strength, in these abnormal as in 
normal cases. But as soon as any particular form of the 
patient's preoccupation goes down in strength, there is no 
longer that deflecting current, and another particular pre- 
occupation has a chance to develop to great height. 

But, when we say that this abnormal tendency for the 
terminal branches in a synap?«e to ''stick" after having ex- 
tended, afifects the whole nervous system of the neurotic 
Tvatient, we do not after all mean exactly the whole nerv- 
ous system. There are undoubtedly differences between the 
lower and the higher centers. We have already pointed 
out, in speaking of normal preoccupation (absent-minded- 
ness, as we also called it), that it is not easily observed in 
those who do merely routine work consisting of reflex-like 
habits. At least, it never lasts in them more than a few 
seconds. For the very same reason as in those normal 
cases, in these neurotic cases where there is abnormal pre- 
occupation, the troublesome symptoms occur in the habit 
functions only, and with the most pronounced frequency 
in the very highest habit functions. The reflexes are vir- 
tually free from these troubles, and the more so, the more 
they have preserved their original character as reflexes, the 
less they have become dependent on higher nerve centers. 

Among the most extreme examples illustrating that the 
very highest centers are those where preoccupation most 
readily plays its role, are those where ''abstractions" make 
up the. main part of the nervous function. Invite the 
Other-One to do something, to raise a hand, to step for- 
ward, or anything much more complex, if you wish. If 
you succeed, by talking to him convincingly (which may 



HYSTERICAL SYMPTOMS 389 

or may not be easy), in stimulating in him the nervous 
function which, for want of a briefer name, we call the 
''abstract idea that this is necessary for his religious salva- 
tion,'' you will be surprised how quickly he carries out your 
request that he raise his hand. If, on the other hand, you 
convince him of the abstract idea ''that there is no such 
thing as a hand," you will be surprized with what an ab- 
solutely negative smile he will refrain from raising his hand 
at your request, which then would be senseless. Every 
nervous process would be side-tracked, so to speak, away 
from the hand muscles. 

So it happens that a patient may be preoccupied with 
the abstraction "there is no such thing as whistling on my 
part." You then observe — and such cases are not rare — 
that your patient can eat, drink, speak, pout, spit, and what 
not, with his lips, but he can no longer whistle with them 
altho he used to do it formerly. Or, in a similar case, a 
patient, while lying in bed, can raise his legs, bend them, 
turn them, can push your hands back with his feet, can 
lift you up if you bear down with all your strength on his 
knees. But put him on his feet and ask him to stand or 
walk, — and he collapses. His legs are completely "para- 
lyzed." He is preoccupied with the abstraction "there is 
no such thing as walking on my part." 

Reflexes, however, are the less interfered with, the less 
they have become modified into habits. For example, the 
application of a little ice on the patient's fore-arm brings 
about the usual reflex response, the immediate contraction 
of all the vessels of the hand. This has never been modified 
into a habit. But the neurotic patient, altho perfectly 
friendly toward you and convinced of your best intentions 
and his own indebtedness to your kindness, may entirely 
fail to respond to your request to make a sign by words or 
motions as soon as you, having blind-folded him, place a 



390 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

little ice on his fore-arm. He is there "anesthetic'' so far 
as his habits are concerned, but not with reference to pure 
reflexes. Preoccupation, that is, the synaptic condition 
meant, does not easily occur in these pure reflex paths, in 
the lowest centers. 

Certain muscles, then, as well as certain sense organs 
still are in the service of the reflexes, while the same sense 
organs or muscles may no longer be in the service of many, 
most, or perhaps virtually all habits, because they have 
been enslaved by a few abstractions. For this reason 
further facts become clear which would otherwise surprise 
us. Neurotics of the kind under discussion do not suffer 
any deterioration of their muscles in consequence of paral- 
ysis. This deterioration is a serious matter in the case of 
paralysis caused by a lesion within the nervous system. The 
paralyzed muscles, never contracting, gradually shrink, are 
absorbed, and if the nervous lesion is cured after months or 
years, it little helps the patient who has lost the muscles 
needed. Most tragical are such occurrences in children 
having suffered from infantile paralysis, a disease which 
destroys whole bundles of neurons. The unfortunate pa- 
tients, still in their period of growth, thru the indirect con- 
sequences of the nervous lesion often become cripples for 
Hfe. 

No shrinkage of the ''paralyzed" muscles occurs in these 
neurotics. There is enough muscular contraction — tho too 
weak to be observed or not observed because occurring 
during the night — ^to prevent the deterioration of the mus- 
cles. The muscles are still in the service of the purer, little 
modified, reflexes. 

Anesthesia, too, in all sense organs, when due to a ner- 
vous lesion, has its serious indirect consequences. For ex- 
ample, if the limb of an animal is made anesthetic by cut- 
ting certain nerves, this limb, quite intact at first, can not 



HYSTERICAL SYMPTOMS 39 1 

be preserved. It is not long in becoming covered with 
sores, and little by little the animal itself bites it off. There 
are patients who complain that their hands are constantly 
burned or wounded. They are not able to avoid injuries. 
They have a spinal lesion which makes them insensible to 
cold and heat. Where the ''anesthesia" is merely a symp- 
tom of abnormal preoccupation, such indirect troubles are 
not likely to occur. The reflexes still protect the patients 
to a high degree. 

The difference between reflexes and habits — the function- 
ing of lower and higher centers — may lead to consequences 
very ridiculous or very tragical according to the circum- 
stances and the ability of those dealing with the patient to 
understand his case. Take the following example. A pa- 
tient is anesthetic (thru preoccupation) on one side and 
has normal sensibility on the other. We blind-fold him and 
pinch him on one side, and he tells us where we pinched 
him. We pinch him on the other side, and he does not 
tell us where we pinched him. But since his original re- 
flexes are not destroyed, we can build up a new habit, — and 
perhaps thru the medium of higher centers which happen 
to be little affected by the existing preoccupation. We re- 
quest him, we persuade him, to say ''Yes" when he feels 
and to say "No" when he does not feel. This is a habit 
formation, but of the kind of "quick learning" which we 
call "willing." If the patient is a little simple minded, not 
intellectual, we succeed. The new habit happens to be free 
from the interference of the preoccupation ; and whenever 
we touch the "anesthetic" side, the patient says "No." 

The observer ignorant of psychology will then show little 
patience with that patient. "He is no patient at all," he will 
say, "he is an habitual liar or pretender. A person who 
tells us that he feels nothing when he is pinched on a cer- 
tain spot and yet says "No" in response to being pinched. 



392 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

while blind-folded, on that spot, is a person who lies to 
us/' The non-psychologist does not understand that these 
are two different habits, of which one may well suffer from 
the preoccupation of the patient and the other not. Of 
course, in a person of high intellect the whole ex'periment 
is not likely to succeed, or is likely to succeed only a short 
time, since the new habit will quickly fuse with the old 
habit. The intellectual person "will see the nonsense of the 
request.'' But what succeeds in others, may succeed in 
him if the conditions become more complex. All thru the 
history of medicine the accusation goes that hystericals are 
habitual Hars. An hysterical person may be a har just as 
a non-hysterical person may be a liar. But he should not 
be regarded as a liar because he is hysterical and ought not 
to suffer the moral contempt of others on account of being 
ill. Tragical illustrations belonging to the same category 
are plentiful in the application of the criminal law, if one 
studies the history of the criminal law from this point of 
view. 

The case of insufficient condensation previously discussed 
in the case of discrimination on the skin can be referred 
to here. We would object if someone would call us a liar 
because we say that what he placed on our skin "feels like 
one point and yet feels like two," as subjects not infre- 
quently are heard to say in such an experiment. 

We have pointed out in a previous chapter certain other 
laboratory experiments in which we tend to react unreason- 
ably. In stereoscopic vision we may say, "I see two pencils 
and I also see that the pencil is farther than the finger." 
We would object if someone would tell us: "You are a 
liar, for seeing the greater distance of the pencil is a sub- 
stitute for seeing it double. You can not see the replacing 
thing and the replaced thing at the same time." 



HYSTEEICAL SYMPTOMS 393' 

In the same previous chapter we mentioned one further 
reason (among innumerable actual reasons) why hysterical 
patients are exposed to being wrongly regarded as insin- 
cere. In that former case the trouble was due to failure of 
the eyes to move as incessantly as they normally do. Such 
failure may result from drugs. The "double vision" of 
the alcohol intoxicated person is proverbial. But stiffness 
of limbs or organs, ''contractures/' have been mentioned 
as common symptoms of the neurosis of preoccupation. If 
the eyes are motionless from the latter cause, such troubles 
as those just mentioned become a reality. Another result 
of lack of motion of the eyes deserves to be mentioned in 
this connection. The somnambulistic, hysterical, patient 
of^en tells us that he sees people surrounded by an ''aura'' 
or that he sees ghosts. We can see the aura too if we stare 
at a person long enough; but it is difficult for a normal 
person to do that. These are nothing but unintended and 
uncomprehended experiments, made by ignorant people, in 
simultaneous and successive visual induction.. 

We owe it to Janet more than to anyone else to have 
made it clear that the state of hypnosis is nothing but a 
state of abnormal preoccupation like those described above, 
only artificially and intentionally produced instead of re- 
sulting from an accident in life. As is to be expected, peo- 
ple differ greatly in the ease with which they can be 
hypnotized. Some have a nervous system whose synapses 
greatly predispose the owner to becoming preoccupied with 
affairs of little intellectual significance. We then call them 
hypnotized or hysterical. If their affair is a highly intel- 
lectual one (think of the "absent-minded professor") and 
the preoccupation results from intense normal work and 
not from a congenitally abnormal nervous system, we do 
not call them either hypnotized or hysterical. But the cases 
are essentially the same. 



394 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

The physician Robert Mayer, famous in the history of 
science, ran into a friend's house without knocking at the 
door, exclaimed ''It is true, it is true,'' and would not listen 
to an}1:hing for a long time. His friend thought that Mayer 
had gone insane ; he had entirely forgotten that many 
AA^eeks before they had discussed the question whether 
water in a bottle could be warmed by merely shaking the 
bottle, and that he himself had rejected that idea as absurd. 
But Mayer continued to be occupied by that same question. 
Any change in the Other-One's habits may be called a 
change in the Other-One's personality. The reaction after 
every process of willing or learning is a symptom of a 
change in his personality. Where the change of habit is 
profound and abnormal, we speak of a disturbance of the 
personality ; even of the splitting of a personality in those 
cases where the change periodically recurs. But there is no 
essential difference between the most astonishing splitting 
of a personality and the simplest hypnotic or somnambuhstic 
performance. And in the description of all these cases such 
terms as the "division of a soul" into parts, a "conscious," 
a "subsconscious," a "coconscious," etc., one, are better 
avoided. That such terms are so popular, is, of course, 
due to the fact that even those people are able to use them 
glibly in their speech who have never devoted time and 
energy to a serious study of those problems of human be- 
havior which fall within the province of the natural sci- 
ences. 

Abnormal nervous functions of any kind interest us in 
an introductory text-book of psychology only in so far as 
they illustrate the normal anatomical and physiological 
properties of the nervous system. That property of the sy- 
napse which leads to preoccupation has already been illus- 
trated by abnormalities. The other normal anatomical and 
physiological properties of the nervous system are not so 



ABNORMALITIES OF THE XERVOUS SYSTEM 395 

strikingly illustrated by abnormalities and there is, therefore, 
less reason for discussing the other abnormalities. It is 
worth while, nevertheless, to enumerate again all the vari- 
ous anatomical and physiological properties of the nervous 
system which form the basis of the systematic description 
in this book of the Other-One's life activities, and to point 
out what abnormalities may result from them in conse- 
quence of bad heredity or of pathological conditions aris- 
ing during life. 

It is not to be expected that a being born with an ana- 
tomical deficiency of reflex paths would live long. That 
anatomical possibility, therefore, need not concern us psy- 
chologists much. But a human being may be born with a 
deficiency in its possible equipment with higher centers and 
continue to live. Indeed, we are, perhaps, all born with 
such a deficiency. The result may be either the one or the 
other or both of the two abnormalities mentioned present- 
ly, which are so common that we simply call them indi- 
vidual differences. 

Higher centers have a great importance for the concerted- 
ness of the functioning of certain reflexes. We gave these 
concerted reflexes the name of instincts. A congenital de- 
ficiency in a person's eq^uipment with higher centers in a 
certain region of the brain might thus be regarded as the 
cause of a weakness of certain instincts which in other in- 
dividuals may be strong. But let us remember that the con- 
certedness of most human actions is not congenital at all, 
but acquired during life. 

We remember, secondly, that in order to acquire a par- 
ticular habit, we must first of all have that particular "long 
path." In the reduction of the resistance of that path con- 
sists the formation of that habit. Now, we know that one 
person acquires easily only these habits, another person 
easily only those habits. The chief source of the individual 



\ 

396 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

difference is undoubtedly the congenital anatomical differ- 
ence. If the Other-One's nerve centers in those regions 
in which the reflexes in question have their paths, are only 
poorly equipped with long paths, then those particular re- 
flexes can be modified into habits only with difficulty, that 
is, thru mediation of long paths too long in the first in- 
stance. That must be one of the chief causes of individual 
differences. 

The person who is born with a general deficiency in his 
equipment with higher centers, the microcephalic person, 
for example, who has very little brain substance, is a born 
idiot. But we are all of us in a relative sense born idiots. 
There are sensory-motor functions which wt can not easily 
acquire in perfection, tho we see some others succeed in 
them. 

Very important for acquiring and retaining habits is the 
degree of the positive and of the negative susceptibility of 
the neurons. There are undoubtedly great congenital dif- 
ferences in this respect between individuals. Some per- 
sons learn everything that they learn at all, very quickly. 
Others learn slowly, needing more repetitions. But one 
must not think in connection with the speed of learning 
that, whenever a person learns something slowly, the sus- 
ceptibility of his neurons is small. He may learn slowly 
because he ''understands" slowly, because he lacks a good 
anatomical equipment of certain higher centers especially 
implicated and has to rely on very indirect ''long" (too 
long) paths. The greatest difficulty in interpreting the re- 
sults of experiments in human or animal behavior results 
from the fact that they rarely are based (perhaps rarely 
can be based) on a preliminary analysis of the nervous 
functions involved. It is clear that an observed speed of 
learning, for example, may be the outward sign of any one 
or more of several properties of the nervous system. 



ABNOEMALITIES OF THE NEEVOUS SYSTEM 397 

We saw that deflection is a very important nervous func- 
tion. But it does not seem plausible that deflection as such, 
in general, can be stronger in one individual than in an- 
other. Indirectly, thru anatomical causes, deflection among 
particular nervous currents may be weak in a particular 
person, because there can be no deflection without a certain 
^'contact" or relatively close, not too indirect, connection of 
the paths of the current to be deflected and the deflecting 
current. 

With respect to shortening a long path after its resist- 
ance has been reduced, there is a possibility of congenital 
individual differences. Unless the individual has undevel- 
oped neurons existing in the region where a short-circuit- 
ing might occur, no shortening of the path is possible. 

We were discussing disturbances of the personality and 
now return briefly to that problem. We must ask, now, 
what influences occurring during life might change a per- 
son in the same or a similar way as a different constitu- 
tional inheritance would have made him a different person. 

With reference to the synapse, it seems that great nervous 
fatigue and also certain drugs aggravate a natural predis- 
position for abnormal preoccupation. Hysterical symptoms 
and a changed personality often make their first appearance 
after exhaustion or intoxication. 

Anatomical interferences are easily understood. A wound, 
say, the passing of a bullet thru the head, or an iaflamma- 
tory disease, or a breaking down of some (not necessarily 
all or most) cells thru age, may completely destroy cer- 
tain nervous paths. The effect is, of course, then of the 
same kind as if it were an inborn anatomical deficiency. 
An individual may not be originally, but may become at a 
certain time in his life, idiotic, demented, in a more or less 
relative sense. If we can still notice that he formerly ac- 
quired an ''intellect,'' but that that acquisition no longer 



398 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

functions properly, it is customary to say that lie has 
''paranoia," that ''his reason goes astray.'' 

On the other hand, an inflammatory disease, or natural 
old age decay, or a poison created somewhere in a diseased 
part of the body and carried by the blood thru the nervous 
system, or a drug taken into the body and acting on the 
nervous system, may not destroy the substance of the 
neurons, but may alter them so that they may gain or lose, 
permanently or temporarily, in conductivity ; or so that they 
lose all or much of their susceptibility, or, maybe, have 
more of it. Particular disturbances of the personality of 
the individual must result. The change in conductivity 
must make certain reactions uncommonly frequent and 
strong, or uncommonly rare and weak. This may occur 
alternately, as in manic-depressive insanity. The change in 
susceptibility must make the individual quicker or slower 
in "learning'' and "willing." 

Epilepsy, which in its extreme form shows itself in con- 
vulsions, may be an abnormal general conductivity of the 
nervous tissue, breaking forth momentarily and subsiding 
again quickly. Instead of this or that muscle contracting, 
all contract in an extreme degree for the time being. 

Disturbances of personality interest us especially as illus- 
trating normal nervous properties and functions. But they 
can themselves be understood only if one has a clear idea 
of the normal function of the nervous system in the whole 
living body. Otherwise abnormal psychology is a mere col- 
lection of curiosities. 



CHAPTER XIX 

Thd PsychoIvOGy o^ the: Othkr-One: and the: Scii:nce:s 
Other than Psychology. 

Science is one, intrinsically undividable, whole. That is, 
all divisions of it are arbitrary, fortuitous, due to the limi- 
tations of one person's energy and interest. The man of 
science who is asked to define a particular science and 
justify its separation, never feels satisfied with his own 
answer. 

When a university man and a man engaged in a trade or 
business who perhaps has never attended the high school 
happen to get acquainted on the street, in a store, in a rail- 
road car or a similar place, the question is usually asked: 
''What do you teach?" And after the teacher has answered 
it, the next, almost inevitable, question is : "What is that ?'' 
And then we have to give an answer which we really dis- 
approve of and even feel ashamed of because we know 
that it is unclear. But we give it nevertheless because we 
know that a clear answer would be a whole college course ; 
and evading the answer altogether would seem discour- 
teous. So we speak out. 

''AH about the earth,'' says the geologist. "All about 
sound and light and electricity," says the physicist. "All 
about animals and plants," the biologist. "All about the 
soul," the psychologist. What else could he say in that 
situation ? 

What troubles the psychologist in giving the answer is 
this, that he is really in no more special manner interested 
in the soul than other people who are not psychologists. 

(399) 



400 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

But what can he do when he has to give a brief answer? 
It does not help him if, instead of ''AH about the soul" he 
says: ''I teach all about the mind/' The majority of modern 
progressive psychologists would deny that as psychologists 
they are particularly interested in the mind, in mentality, 
in consciousness, or whatever synonym of ''soul'' you choose. 
That period in the history of psychology, when those terms 
stood in the center of discussion, is passing away, never to 
return. 

In recent years men have lamented (using an expression 
which sounds like a joke, but is meant as a serious com- 
plaint) that psychology has "lost its mind." Just as a fu- 
neral oration is fair testimony that the man in whose honor 
it is spoken is dead, so this complaint is fair testimony 
that psychologists are no longer concerned, chiefly, with 
the mind. 

It is a curious fact that what is nowadays technically 
called psychological, would appear often in the language 
of a hundred years ago the very opposite, the unpsycholog- 
ical. Inasmuch as we all, even the professional psychol- 
ogists themselves, still live in the general literary atmos- 
phere of our ancestors of a hundred, and even hundreds, of 
years ago, a discussion of the fact stated in the preceding 
sentence is desirable. 

The old, and still popularly accepted, meaning of the 
word "psychological" is derived from the literal meaning 
of the Greek word "psyche," that is, soul. Unless you can 
or will mention a soul, you would then not consider the 
matter as "psychological." Out of such general questions 
arise in many instances specialized questions which thru- 
out the history of mankind have puzzled the lawyers and the 
legislators, and naturally even more the theologians, — 
such questions as this, whether the unborn child has a soul, 
or whether the "infant," the not yet speaking, child has a 



HISTORY AND PSYCHOLOGY 401 

soul. Think, for example, of the untold misery that has 
been brought over countless human beings by answering in 
the one rather than in the other way the question, whether 
the mother drowning her newborn baby has committed mur- 
der of another soul or a partial suicide of her own soul 
or neither. Or the question whether the unbaptized soul 
of the infant goes to hell, an impossibility in case the infant 
has no soul yet. We are beginning to think more and more 
lightly of questions like these, which were a heavy burden 
to the conscience of our ancestors. How has this change 
come about, in popular thinking, and even more pronounced- 
ly in the thought of men of science? 

History is one of the social sciences. To the naive thinker, 
however, history is the science which records the deeds of 
individual great men. History is then chiefly a record of 
the deeds of heroes, of prophets, of kings. Remove 
Achilles, Agamemnon, and the other names of heroes from 
the Iliad. What would be left? Remove the name of Christ 
from the history of the Church. What would be left? To 
the naive thinker history is the product of the whirling 
processes going on in the individual great soul. Human 
society is both the clay which is being moulded by such a 
soul and the tool by means of which the particles of that 
clay are pushed forward by that great soul. The only 
really interesting thing is the great soul that does it. 

It used to be customary to refer to the view opposing 
this naive one by the curious phrase of a materialistic view 
of history. This, however, is only an example of what we 
find to be generally true: the modern psychological view 
in every one of its applications has had to submit to being 
branded, sometimes by friends, sometimes by foes, as the 
materialistic, that is, seemingly, the entirely unpsychological 
view of humanity. There are many reasons for this mis- 
branding. 



402 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

For example, it was concluded that the world, if it was 
not controlled by souls, must be controlled by the stomach 
and sex organs, by hunger and love, as Goethe said in a 
little poem, and that the complete development of this 
principle would lead to the glorification of riotous living and 
self-indulgence. As a matter of fact, the materialistic view 
of history is, or should be, something very different. It 
simply regards history as the mutual reaction of groups of 
organisms, — organisms which are equipped by Nature, not 
only with digesting and propagating functions, but with 
equally fundamental altruistic functions. These latter func- 
tions — call them reflexes, instincts, or what not — establish 
the very grouping of the organisms. Human societies can 
thus be understood as originating from natural laws, — not 
in the sense of groups of souls tho, but in the sense of groups 
of organisms. Accepting this view, we readily understand 
why the trend of history is in the direction of democracy. 

Let souls (of which we never experience any but our 
own) be as different in degree and kind as a despotic mon- 
arch is apt to imagine them to be. Human organisms — ^that 
we know by experience and therefore cannot imagine other- 
wise — have more likenesses than differences. The proof is 
easy. Fill a museum of human life with the specimens of 
the human race that are for all practical purposes alike. You 
cannot do it. No museum would be large enough. But you 
can place in a museum, for comparison, a Darwin and an 
idiot, or a man seven feet tall and a negrito four feet tall. 
It is the differences which we exhibit in museums because 
the differences are rare. In real world-wide human life 
the differences among individuals are entirely swamped by 
their likenesses. To him who accepts the scientific view 
that human society is a group of organisms, it is an absurd 
proposition to divide even as small a group as, say, a hun- 
dred into only two classes, placing ninety-nine in the one, 



CRIMIITOLOGY AND PSYCHOLOGY 403 

the subjected class, and a single member in the other, the 
governing class. No considerable number of individual 
organisms can ever live depending on the accidents of the 
life of one. With souls that may be different ; but in 
science souls no longer play their former role. 

We spoke of history. Let us speak of other social 
sciences. Modern criminology would never have come into 
existence if our psychological thinking had not passed from 
its former stage, during which mankind's very proper in- 
terest in Man was mainly an interest in his soul, to the 
modern stage where our psychological interest turns to the 
functioning of man as an organism. The old-fashioned 
idea of a crime is that of an interference with one soul's 
independence by another soul. The proper punishment 
then consists in pushing the latter soul as far to starboard 
as it arbitrarily pushed the former to larboard. Thus the 
balance of the spiritual world would have been re-establish- 
ed. That it was the only purpose of punishment to set 
the world right again in this almost mathematically exact 
manner by spiritual mechanics, the writer was taught in his 
student days by a professor of philosophy who called him- 
self proudly the last Hegelian. Modern criminology, how- 
ever, adopting the modern psychological way of thinking of 
man as an organism, not as a soul, regards a crime as a case 
of poor adjustment of one organism to the others and also — 
not less — of the other organisms to the one, and punish- 
ment as one of the means of improving this biological ad- 
justment. 

All the social sciences will have to take the same road. 
Economics has one foot already on it, but it seems to have 
the other foot still on the old road forming an endless circle 
which leads nowhere. We still see too much interest shown 
among economists in speculative discussions of subjective 
terms, such as 'Value," which in no way contribute to the 



404 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-OlSrE 

real problem of finding how human organisms produce, ac- 
cumulate, and distribute things which help to strengthen 
the functions of these organisms. 

Sociology, that is, the mass of knowledge of a social kind 
to which we apply the term ''sociology" in the restricted 
sense, perhaps has had unusually good luck. Coming into 
existence rather late, let us say during the last fifty years, 
it seems always to have had the advantage of the pressure 
resulting from the immediate social needs of mankind. 
Sociologists, that is, have always felt so strongly the need 
of social reform, the need of betterment of the lives of the 
very organisms with whom they rubbed shoulders in the 
crowd on the street, that they did not find much time for 
talk about souls. Nevertheless there are sociological books 
whose very chapter headings make one shudder, so far re- 
moved are they from the warmth of life, — such headings as 
''Intuitive Perception,'' "Intuitive Reason," or "Female 
Intuition." That is Hegel revived. 

A further social science is the science of religion, or, as 
it is often called, the psychology of religion. Who doubts 
that religion is one of the strongest forces in society? And 
yet, for thousands of years the intellectual interest of men, 
of students, has been restricted to the unsocial, artificial 
problems of religion, the questions as to the interrelation 
of souls, — for example, the question how one soul may 
contribute to the eternal salvation or eternal damnation of 
other souls, briefly speaking, to theology, which is not a 
social, but a purely individualistic afifair, one intellectual 
game among the many which fill the history of philosophy. 

The modern psychological way of thinking has brought 
us back to the solid ground of appreciating rehgion as a 
social phenomenon, exemplified by Christ going among his 
fellow men, an organism among organisms, and comfort- 
ing and encouraging those whose burdens in society were 



RELIGION AND PSYCHOLOGY 405 

heaviest, making it easier for them to carry the burden when 
its removal under the existing conditions was impossible. 

It is easy enough, then, to answer the question what use 
the social sciences have for psychology. They simply are 
psychology in the modern sense of the word ; and on the 
other hand, psychology is social science. 

We psychologists must often hear the (unjustified) re- 
proach that our psychology is nothing but physiology or 
neurology or some similar ''unpsychological," materialistic 
science, against which you would better protect the un- 
suspecting, pure soul of the college freshman. But we 
psychologists have no difficulty in distinguishing our in- 
terests from those of other biological departments. We 
study the organism as an organism, it is true, but only in 
so far as its functions have distinctly social significance. 
We do not study the stomach, because its function is an in- 
dividualistic affair with which society is not directly con- 
cerned. It is the physiologist's business. We do not study 
the breakdown of nerve cells under the influence of exces- 
sive athletic training. That is an individualistic affair, the 
business of the medical man. But we are concerned with 
the possibilities of developing habits and with the limita- 
tions, if there are any, which Nature may have placed upon 
the development of habits. We are convinced that habits 
are the mysterious entities so much and so vaguely talked 
about under the name of social forces. 

A hundred years ago Johannes Mueller, the father of 
modern physiology, made the famous remark: Nemo psy- 
chologus nisi physiologus.'' That was a valuable statement 
at his time when psychology was still mixed up with spec- 
ulative philosophy and very little psychology in the modern 
sense existed. Today a still more valuable statement would 
be this: "Nemo psychologus nisi sociologus.'* 



406 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

The psychologist, however up-to-date, is not a material- 
ist. He does not deny the existence of the soul. He may 
deny, however, that it is his business to waste his time in 
trying to make the soul an object of scientific inquiry. We 
do not deny the soul ; but we do not devote our time to it. 
We find enough, and more than enough, to do studying 
the body. For instance, when we study memory, we do 
not study the soul. We find out, for example, how many 
times the speech organs have to pronounce a series of 
words placed before the eye until they will pronounce the 
whole series correctly with only the first word appearing 
before the eye. That is a study of the organic functioning 
of the body. 

It is unfortunate that no human being can be always safe 
and sane in his ways of thinking. Even if I could master 
all the scientific achievements of the day, which obviously 
one individual can not, these scientific achievements them- 
selves are only a small part of that complete understanding 
of the world which a divine being w^ould possess. Owing 
to the individual and general limitation of scientific knowl- 
edge, moments arise in everyone's life, less frequently in 
one's, more frequently in another's, when no amount of ra- 
tional thought, but faith in the destiny of this world, relig- 
ious faith alone can give him comfort. Religion is needed, 
then and therefore. But remember, it is extra-scientific. 

Now you will perhaps ask: If psychology is not the 
science of the soul, but one of the many sciences of material 
bodies, will it always be possible to define it so that I can 
distinguish it from the other sciences? The answer is simple. 
Don't distinguish it. Don't define it. You don't have to 
define it any more than you have to define physics. That 
is physics in which those are interested who are called 
physicists by consensus of opinion. For the purposes of 
mankind that is not only a sufficient, but a better definition 



DEFIKITIOK OF PSYCHOLOGY 407 

than any more detailed one you might substitute. We have 
hinted, in the first chapter and in this chapter, at a defini- 
tion of psychology in terms describing its subject matter. 
But really the best definition, the one that serves human 
society best, is this : Psychology is that in which psychologists 
are interested as men of science. 

This definition has also this great advantage for the psy- 
chologist that now the other sciences can no longer unload 
their unsolved problems on psychology by shrugging their 
shoulders, so to speak, and saying : Here is a problem whose 
solution concerns us, — concerns us more than anyone else. 
But it seems to be a problem of the soul, therefore we must 
wait until, the psychologists solve it. . 

You see how hopeless the case then would be. If it is a 
problem of the soul, then it is no scientific problem at all 
and the psychologist will never pay any attention to it. But 
if it is an objective problem, a real problem, then it is a 
problem of that science which is directly concerned with it. 

If the lawyer has a problem, and if no one else cares for 
it enough to attempt its solution, then it is a lawyer's prob- 
lem, a problem of jurisprudence; and it is primarily the 
lawyer's business to solve it. Don't be lazy and call it a 
psychological problem. 

If the engineer has a problem, say, whether the man in 
the locomotive cab should wear overalls or an apron, don't 
be lazy and call it a psychological problem. If no psychol- 
ogist and nobody else can be made to take an interest in 
the question but you, then it is a problem in engineering. 

If the economist has a problem, say, why people want to 
buy things that they have no use for, don't say: ''Excuse 
me, this is psychology. It is a problem of the soul. It is 
mysterious. We can't solve it. We are waiting for the 
psychologists." If it is your problem because you seem to 



408 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

be primarily interested in it, then it is a problem of eco- 
nomics. Go ahead and solve it. 

One must not think that this gives an unfair advantage to 
the psychologists, relieving them from practically all re- 
sponsibility for the welfare of the world. Not so. We 
psychologists have similar troubles. We are often inclined 
to think, this is a problem in physics, this is a problem in 
chemistry, this is a problem in neurology, and so forth, and 
to wait until the physicists, the chemists, the neurologists 
have solved it. But it won't do. Those men take but little 
interest in our problems. You can't expect them to take 
more. So we have to do what everyone has to do, to solve 
our own problems ourselves. 

You do not wonder, then, altho you perhaps wondered 
before, why the modern psychologist needs so much equip- 
ment of apparatus, machinery, tools. Maybe you thought 
that a psychological laboratory ought to look like a saint's 
chapel or like the interior of the Egyptian temple which you 
saw on the operatic stage, in the Magic Flute. Such places 
seem to be well suited to an investigation of souls. But 
that is not our task. 



CHAPTER XX 

The Myste:rie:s of^ the: Soul. 

Ask a college freshman on his registration day what he 
thinks his psychology teacher ought to teach him. The 
answer is likely to be ''How to hypnotize people." Now, 
this is not mentioned in order to convey the idea that a 
psychologist is not concerned with hypnotism. We are. 
But this subject is so trite, and the task of hypnotizing a 
person is ordinarily so devoid of the satisfaction which 
comes from performing a task both difficult and useful 
(neither of which can usually be said of hypnotizing) that 
the psychologist feels no more enthusiasm about it than a 
kitchen chef would feel when given the task of boiling the 
potatoes for a banquet. 

But with the layman it is a different story. It is thrilling. 
Why is there this great interest in hypnotism among the 
lay population? Because to them it is not a mere material 
event, as easily reproduced by anybody as any simple event, 
as sawing a branch from a tree, for example, but a demon- 
stration of the powers of the soul. Like everything con- 
cerning the soul it is mysterious. And like everything mys- 
terious it is thrillingly interesting. 

Hypnotism is a relation between two human beings, two 
human bodies, two organisms. It is therefore a relation 
essentially the same as that of teacher and pupil, for ex- 
ample ; or that of traffic policeman and driver ; or that of a 
politician and his constituents ; or that of the governor of 
a state and the people of the state; or that 'of an army 
officer and a soldier; or that of a priest and a confessing 

(409) 



410 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

sinner ; or the relation between two sinners, or between two 
private soldiers, or that between one citizen and another one 
hving next door. When we here enumerate these dry ex- 
amples chosen at random from the multitude of human re- 
lations, they may at the first moment seem to be unsuited 
to our discussion, to involve nothing of the kind of a problem 
of souls. But with the least amount of reflection you will 
convince yourself that, except very recently, all these have 
always been treated, in the history of mankind, as problems 
of the interrelation of souls. And as problems of souls they 
have been mysterious problems, open to attack, not by the 
methods of science, but only by the methods of magic. 

The most extreme case is that of religion. Let us there- 
fore courageously subject it first to our scrutiny. Religion 
is to the individual who has it (and we all have religion, 
altho perhaps under different and curious names and at 
different times and periods of our lives different quantities 
of it) — religion is the great problem, the great mystery of 
our soul. How to procure satisfaction, salvation for our 
soul under the tribulations of life, that is the question. 
Does mankind draw the consequences from the fact that we 
know thru our senses no soul whatsoever, and that the only 
soul which we experience in our immediate consciousness 
is the own soul? If we drew the proper consequences, we 
would be — that is, mankind would always have been — per- 
fectly tolerant in matters of religion. The reverse is true. 
Thruout history we find religion being spread by fire and 
sword, by torture and death. By these methods people be- 
lieved themselves able to save, not only their own souls, but 
also thousands and millions of other souls. Innumerable 
human lives were sacrificed in order that their souls be 
saved. 

Now assume, for comparison, the attitude of the modern 
psychologist. He will make no attempt at proving to you 



MYSTERIOUS PROBLEMS 411 

that you have no soul. Your soul and the question of its 
existence are your own business. Because your soul is your 
own business, can never be any other's experience or 
business, and must therefore be forever mysterious, forever 
closed to the inductive methods of science, closed to the 
infinitely repeatable sensory-motor test of scientific pro- 
cedure, therefore the psychologist minds his own business 
and leaves your soul alone. Your religion is to him a set 
of peculiar reactions of your body, consisting in the writing 
and speaking of particular words and the performance of 
particular observances, such as going to church. 

The psychologist is much interested in these actions of 
your body. He tries to find out to what extent they are 
inherited, to what extent they are habits acquired during 
life, what forces, physical or social, contribute to the for- 
mation of these habits, what help your body can derive 
from these inherited and acquired functions in its struggle 
*for existence. And then he will give you his advice. 

You need not accept his advice. He will hardly urge you 
to accept it, for he knows how little he knows this complex 
machinery called the human body and its functions. As to 
forcing you by torture or death to accept his advice, the 
idea is ridiculous to him who knows how little he knows. 
The psychologist, altho he may have written a big volume 
on the psychology of religion, can not help being tolerant. 
He has as much doubt as he has knowledge. 

It is the man who is interested in souls who is intolerant. 
Not having, since no one can have it (as we stated), 
scientific knowledge of other people's souls, he has no 
scientific doubts about their souls either, but regards them 
dogmatically as recasts of his own soul and acts according- 
ly. Is not that exactly what we call intolerance, when we 
expect everything to be like our own ? He whose interest is 
centered in souls thinks, when he has forced others to speak 



412 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ON^E ' 

his prayer, pronounce his creed, kneel before his altar, that 
he has saved their souls, and fails to admit that he has 
merely forced their bodies, — without in the least trying to 
investigate the purpose, the end of his intolerant acts so 
far as the welfare of these bodies is concerned. 

Religion is one of the poles of the axis around which 
our intolerance swings in its mysterious whirl. Government 
is tl^ other. N^.ive thinkers have sometimes concluded 
that the easiest way of freeing the world from intolerance 
w^ould be the abolition of both religion and government. 
Those who boast of being atheists, usually also boast of 
being anarchists. A certain phase in the French revolution 
comes to our mind as a typical example. If you still are in 
this naive stage of thought which often accompanies the 
enthusiasm of youth trying to reform the world quickly, 
we shall not take you seriously because we are convinced 
that you will sooner or later pass over that stage. What w^ 
must point out is that political terrorism, too, has its main 
and inexhaustible source in the human tendency to think 
of other human beings, not as bodies open to scientific in- 
vestigation, but as souls, as mysterious beings, to be govern- 
ed either by magic or, if magic fails as it naturally must, 
by torture and death. 

In all the history of mankind it has always been regarded 
as the crime of all crimes to be against the de facto govern- 
ment, to be a rebel, to try to change the government by sub- 
stituting for those persons who have the power, some other 
persons. If those who govern would be regarded and re- 
gard themselves merely as the servants of the people, why 
should it be a crime to change servants? We do it here in 
the United States every few years. But what is the divine 
right of kings if it is not the assertion of a mysterious soul 
given to the king by God, quite different from the souls 



MYSTERIOUS PROBLEMS 413 

of subjects, but whose difference is quite beyond the pos- 
sibility of scientific investigation. 

Where the divine right is still quite unchallenged by the 
critical spirit of science, as among half civilized people, the 
king is expected to perform magic feats (in France until 
the eighteenth century). Why not, — if his soul is of a 
superior kind? One of the Prussian kings, even in the nine- 
teenth century, made himself famous by speaking of *'the 
limitations of judgment characteristic of mere subjects." 
Among more highly civilized people, where recognition of 
the fact that the body of the king (or say President, it 
makes no difference) is a very common human body inter- 
feres with regarding the soul as superior, an impersonal 
soul is often substituted and worshipped. It is the "state" 
or the "nation" or the "country" or the "honor of the flag," 
as we say, that plays the same role. Not the state in the 
sense of the totality of the human beings living within a 
certain territory in the year — choose your own. That 
would be a truly scientific conception in the investigation 
of which the psychologist would be glad to share. But the 
state in the sense of a soul-like reality, unknowable thru our 
senses, but which we must worship with out bodies as the 
subjects of a king worship their king. 

In the story of William Tell it is said that the Governor 
whom the Emperor had sent to Switzerland invented a good 
method of making the Swiss submissive. He had a pole 
erected on the market place of one of the towns and his hat 
placed on top of the pole. When the Swiss people walked 
by, they had to take off their hats and bow. What were 
tTiey to worship? The body of that piece of felt crowning 
the pole? Of course not, but its soul, the imperial idea. You 
see that even a piece of felt may have a soul. The story ap- 
pears fanciful to us. It probably is fancy, a mere legend. 



414 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-OKE 

Make sure, however, that we do not do the same today, 
only under another name. 

If we get into patriotic hysterics, the professional poH- 
tician can subject us the more easily. In poetry one can not 
object to talk of the soul of a nation, or of such synonyms 
as the "honor" of a nation, which to some is as convenient 
a substitute for soul as it used to be to the duellists of former 
centuries who had to fight w^henever their ''honor" was hurt. 
Religion and poetry (or art in general) are the two forms 
of human activity which have a right to be unscientific — or 
rather extrascientific — so long as they are not antagonistic 
to scientific, objective social progress. But let this talk of 
the soul, the honor, the Kultur, the destiny of a nation and 
its needs get beyond the playful use in poetry, let it get into 
international diplomacy, let it begin to determine your ac- 
tions tow^ards other beings, and your actions will be as 
atrocious as those for which the world w^ar has given us 
plentiful examples. 

If nations could be made to see that all nations are con- 
gregations of organisms of the same species, and that what 
each calls its soul, its honor, its civilization, its tradition 
(the particular one of these terms used makes no difiference) 
is only a set of organic habits on the whole neither better 
nor worse than the habits of another group, peace would 
reign on earth as it has come to reign in our smaller com- 
munities. 

Let us recapitulate what we have said thus far. In re- 
ligion and in politics the worst intolerance, the most in- 
human atrocity is found correlated with the most one-sided 
preference of spiritual, subjective, idealistic terminology. 
Can you blame the psychologist when he, who regards the 
study of human life as his particular sphere of interest, 
confesses to you that he prefers to think of a human being 



MYSTERIOUS PROBLEMS 415 

as a bodily organism rather than as a soul, of a nation as a 
society of such organisms rather than as a collective soul? 

From our earliest youth, almost from infancy, we become 
saturated with habits of denoting human beings as souls, 
and thus we are led into the alleys of the maze of mystery 
from which few find their way out into the light of modern, 
rational, scientific thought, and from which many, very 
many, it is to be feared, never even see a dim and distant 
reflection of such light. 

When you ask a person who manifests any considerable 
interest in psychology what it is that he is specially inter- 
ested in, he usually replies that it is hypnotism, or thought 
transference, or mind reading, or fortune telling, or char- 
acter reading. If this were not the twentieth century, but 
the eighteenth, we could have added sorcery, magic, en- 
chantment. These and similar mixtures of fact and fable 
are the mysteries of the soul. 

To hypnotize a person, it is necessary, according to the 
popular notion, to obtain first a peculiar property of the 
soul, a kind of spiritual magnetism that can at a distance 
act on another soul, can reproduce itself in another soul as 
magnetism can reproduce itself in another piece of iron, and 
which one may obtain therefore from another person who 
already has it, if that person is willing to give. No doubt 
that not a few college students are either entirely or at least 
partially driven by such notions and the motives connected 
therewith when they enroll in a course in psychology. Some 
people who ofifer themselves to play the ridiculous role of 
being hypnotized, do so from this kind of curiosity, because 
they wonder how it feels when that magnetism goes thru 
one. They are not to be blamed at all. If we grow up 
under conditions implanting such notions in us, it is entirely 
proper and an indication of a perfectly normal and desirable 
curiosity and ambition, to learn about and, if possible, ob- 



416 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-OlSrE 

tain such a wonderful power. On the other hand, it is 
easy to read the disappointment in their faces when they 
learn that everybody can hypnotize just as everybody can 
kindle a fire, can give an Indian whisky to drink, or can 
rock a baby to sleep. Why call it mysterious? 

The following happened at a time when mysterious 
phenomena were most commonly referred to under the 
term ''animal magnetism'', when — in a certain European 
country — telegraph wires were already found along many 
of the important highways, but when railway lines were 
still very rare. The manager of an ''animal magnetism 
show" traveled with his "medium" in a coach from one 
city to another. Unfortunately, when they arrived, they 
could not give the performance on the promised date because 
the medium had become sick. The manager explained 
the sickness very readily. No wonder she got sick : She, 
that is, this "lump of animal magnetism," had been com- 
pelled to "move for miles and miles parallel and in close 
proximity to an electric wire," that is, the telegraph wire. 
Many of our contemporaries who laugh at the foolishness 
of this explanation would probably be quite willing to ac- 
cept equally foolish explanations of facts if they are only 
clad in terms which have the character of mysteriousness 
in the way in which the populace of today is accustomed to 
think. 

Is there anything mysterious in a mother's rocking or 
singing a baby to sleep? It is just as difficult to rock a baby 
to sleep as to hypnotize a person. Nevertheless, no mother 
has ever claimed, and no other person has ever admitted, 
that she had a mysterious power over the baby's. soul. The 
baby is placed in a comfortable position, the light is dimmed 
and all other avoidable stimuli are kept away. The subject 
to be hypnotized is treated in the same manner. The baby 
is rocked. Bodies to be hypnotized, however, are usually 



MYSTEEIOUS PROBLEMS 417 

too large and heavy to be rocked easily, since the hypnotizer 
is not a giant. Therefore the latter substitutes for the rock- 
ing talking. Speak to a person under such conditions as 
persuasively as you can about nothing but sleep and dreams, 
and he finally assumes the sleeping posture as far as it is 
possible in the given situation and becomes preoccupied 
with maintaining this posture. 

If you have any experience in it, you know that, when 
you rock a baby to sleep, the most risky part of the per- 
formance is the moment when you stop rocking. The ces- 
sation of rocking requires a new adjustment of the baby's 
body and is therefore of the nature of a new stimulus. To 
this stimulus, the cessation of rocking, the baby is likely to 
respond by throwing about its arms and legs, by crying, and 
by similar activities which we familiarly call waking up. 

What is to be emphasized, however, is not this waking up 
as such. If we must regard the cessation of rocking as a 
stimulus to which the baby's body responds by a new ad- 
justment, it is clear that before the new and changed ad- 
justment there was another adjustment. That is, the baby's 
body, asleep as we say, is nevertheless keeping adjusted, is 
in this way positively responding to the rocking, altho 
asleep. That is one of the false notions most people have, 
that sleep is the opposite of every class of activity. The 
sleeping body is not absolutely inactive. It is one-sidedly 
active. It is pre-occupied. 

Now substitute for the baby the hypnotized subject. 
Talking takes the place of rocking. It is plain, then, that 
the hypnotized body, too, is still positively adjusting him- 
self to, reacting to, the hypnotizer's talking, — altho already 
asleep. Now the hypnotizer begins to change the content 
of his talk. Instead of talking about sleep and dreams, he 
begins to talk about raising an arm, opening the mouth, and 
similar reactions of the nature of visible motion. But re- 



418 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

member, the hypnotizer is one of those stimuli with whom 
the subject to be hypnotized is already preoccupied. It is 
not mysterious, then, that these motions are executed. 

If I stand before an audience, raise my finger, look at it 
myself and say in a loud voice 'Xook at this finger,'' every 
one looks at it. There is no mystery in that. It is no more 
mysterious when a hypnotized person obeys an imperative 
demand and bites into a raw potato, smacks his lips, tells 
you that it is a delicious apple. If a clerk in the grocery 
store or a professional entertainer in the circus acts in that 
way, you call him silly, a fool, or a clown. Why, — be con- 
sistent and call the hypnotic performance by the correspond- 
ing name. It fully deserves it. 

The only difference is this, that the clown is the actor 
who supplies the ridiculous element of the case, whereas 
in the hypnotic performance you, the spectator, little as you 
may suspect it, supply the ridiculous element. The pre- 
occupied person can not be expected to act rationally while 
he is preoccupied, but you, the spectator, might have better 
sense than to apply the notion of a soul acting thru the 
medium of a spiritual magnetism, when all that happened 
before your eyes was the social relation, the most familiar 
fact in the world, between two bodily organisjns. Think of 
two organisms, and the whole performance loses its mys- 
tery, becomes trivial. Think of two souls, and it is myste- 
rious. But what is truly mysterious is the fact that you, a 
usually rational spectator, should apply this silly notion of a 
magnetism of souls. 

The popular craving for hypnotism and whatever is 
connected with it becomes comprehensible when we recall 
that it is a craving for power, — for power over other souls, 
power to compel them to do what we want them to do. 
And people long for still another power over souls which 
consists in knowing them", in knowing their thoughts and 



MYSTEEIOUS PEOBLEMS 419 

feelings, in knowing their character, in order to adjust 
themselves to such knowledge. If we could all realize that 
knowing another person can mean only knowing his organic 
habits, we would go about obtaining it in the proper way, 
by gradually accumulating experience, tho this process 
must be slow. But we think falsely that knowing another 
person means knowing his soul and crave for a short cut 
by mysterious means. In practice, the requirement of know- 
ing another soul has played its greatest or rather its most 
disastrous role in criminal procedure. 

Criminal procedure until most recent times has always 
had for its aim the restoration of the spiritual balance of 
the world by meting out punishment in proportion to the 
quantity of evil thought, of evil character, contained in the 
evil-doer's soul. That legal punishment is one of the means 
of social adaptation, of mutually adapting the habits of the 
individual human organism and of the society of such or- 
ganisms, is a very recent insight which has not become quite 
universal yet. In the traditional procedure the only im- 
portant problem for the judge was to know the accused per- 
son's soul, his ''thoughts." When the prisoner's thoughts 
were known, it was an easy matter to adjust the punishment 
to them. Any person whose intelligence was equal to the 
multiplication table could do that. 

But how to know the other person's thoughts,— that was 
a problem ! Have you ever tried to read another person's 
mind? Suppose you were the judge and you had to read 
the other person's mind. Of course, you remember the 
classic examples of King Solomon. Go and do likewise. 
But you would soon begin to doubt, under the stress of 
actuality, whether Solomon's wisdom was not fable rather 
than fact. Mind reading is easy only when its truth or un- 
truth is of no serious consequence, when it is a mere sport. 
It becomes difificult in proportion to its seriousness and its 



420 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE . 

real value. You can easily understand, then, why these 
judges of former centuries, despairing of their mysterious 
power of mind reading which they were supposed to pos- 
sess, should have felt inclined to resort to a more feas- 
ible, altho cruel, method, — judicial torture. To Hsten is 
often easier than to read. Why not here? 

Instead of reading, those judges decided to listen to, the 
prisoner's mind. If the prisoner's mind would not move 
his tongue, there were means of loosening the tongue — ap- 
plication to the prisoner's body of the thumb screw or the 
boot or the rack or the wheel. A person of the twentieth 
century, who is accustomed to scientific ways of thinking, 
and who regards the prisoner as an organism whose habits 
have to be studied, investigated by all possible means, 
among which listening to the prisoner's speech function is 
only one and not the most important means, wonders why 
former centuries should have placed such enormous weight 
in legal practice upon the prisoner's confession or lack of 
confession. But it becomes plausible enough when you 
consider that the judge in former times was not a sociolo- 
gist, but a mind reader who by mind reading and a little 
knowledge of the law had to keep an imaginary, ideal, 
spiritual world from losing its balance. Fiat justitia, pereat 
mundus. Let justice be done, even tho the real world, 
that is, mankind, should perish. 

Recall the horrors of the torture, the horrors of the pro- 
cedure especially of such courts as the Spanish inquisition 
or the witch-craft courts of the 17th century in Europe and 
in New England, — ^the horrors of any and all criminal pro- 
cedure down to the nineteenth, maybe even to the twentieth 
century. 

These atrocities were due to the fact that the judge was 
serving as a mind reader, and that the accused was regarded 
primarily as a soul. Not even the most inhuman, most 



MYSTERIOUS PROBLEMS 421 

bestial butcher (a butcher, of course, is not inhuman because 
of being a butcher) would treat a pig in that way. Why 
not? — ^Because the pig would be merely an animal, not 
a soul ; and therefore not only the energy, but the dignity 
of the torture would be wasted on it. There are few cases 
reported in the history of mankind where animals, that is, 
''soulless" beings, have been executed; they seem to have 
entirely escaped judicial torture. Even that rooster, some- 
where in Switzerland, that was burnt because eye witnesses 
seemed to prove that he had committed, about the year 
1700, the devilish act of laying an egg, escaped previous tor- 
ture before being burnt at the stake. 

Nowadays we think we are more enlightened. We have 
abolished the rack. But how do we kill a prisoner con- 
demned to death ? We tell him that in a few weeks he must 
die, but we leave him in suspense as to whether tomorrow 
or next week. Then suddenly we give final notice, lead him 
in a formal procession to the electric chair and have a little 
chat with him as a crowning ceremony to our procedure. It 
does not occur to us that, if the welfare of society demands 
that a certain human organism be put to death, the only 
humane method would be putting him to death without tell- 
ing him anything about it, or intimating as little as possible 
about it, and doing it in his sleep when he is not suspecting 
what will happen the next moment. Humane methods, 
however, we leave to the butcher. The executioner must be 
atrocious out of respect for the prisoner's soul. 

The modern psychologist is not the man to whom you 
should appeal if you want information about your soul. 
The psychologist is not interested in your soul but in cer- 
tain functions of your organism, in those which are directly 
of social significance, whereas he leaves to the physiologist, 
and the workers in branches of science related to physiology, 
the study of those functions of your organism which, like 



422 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

digestion, or tissue growth, or the color of your hair, are 
not directly of social, but almost exclusively of individual 
significance. This book could have attempted to make clear 
the gradual change of his interests and its result, the present 
direction of the psychologist's . interest. For example, it 
could have pointed out how men who started with a con- 
siderable enthusiasm for studying the soul became disgusted 
with this study, because they discovered that it led no- 
where, just as this same study of the soul, continued for 
thousands of years in the history of mankind, practically 
led nowhere. 

However, it is generally more difficult to prove the nega- 
tive, the absence of something, than to prove the existence 
of something. So we chose the method which is easier and 
more quickly convincing, and tried to show you that our 
interest in other human beings as souls positively. is highly 
dangerous for human society, that the most cruel acts of 
man against man are those committed in the name of man's 
mysterious soul, that a rational, a humane treatment of its 
individual members is to be expected much more by a so- 
ciety which regards itself as a group of organisms than by 
one which regards itself as a mysterious collective soul. 
You cannot, then, blame the psychologist if he refuses to 
be considered an expert in matters spiritual, if he proclaims 
that his work is a study of the human organism in certain 
functional aspects, as previously delimited. 



QUESTIONS AND PROBLEMS 

Chapter 1. 

1. What role does the Self play in modern psychology? 

2. Is the psychology of the Other-One a denial of his conscious- 
ness? 

3. How do engines, plants, animals, and the Other-One differ? 

4. What are the delimitations of psychology toward the other 
sciences? 

5. What is the chief cause of animal locomotion? 

6. What is the direct (not indirect and later) effect of a stimulus 
on living bodies? 

7. What kinds of stimulation and what kinds of response are 
there? 

8. What kinds of differentiated tissues must be distinguished? 

9. What is the shape of neurons, and why? 

10. What is the relative importance of gray and white matter? 

11. What is the function of a ganglion cell? 

12. What need is there of a second form of animal behavior? 

Chapter 2. 

13. What kind of snail are we considering? 

14. Write a snail story in which you use the following terms as 
often as you wish, but in proper sequence: (1) body weight 
axis, (2) stimulus, (3) expansion, (4) conduction, (5) con- 
traction, (6) excitation, (7) normal body shape, (8) deforma- 
tion, (9) direction of body, (10) normal tissue density, (11) 
normal chemical constitution, (12) fever. 

15. Why is the kind of nervous system which suggests itself 
most readily quite impossible? 

16. Why must a moth, and all higher animals, have nervous tis- 
sue? 

.17. In what respect may the answers to questions 15 and 16 ap- 
pear contradictory? 
18. A nervous excitation causes, not only continuous muscular 
contraction, but what contraction also? 

(42S) 



424 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

19. What is meant by sensory and motor points of the body? 
Are they geometrical points in the body? 

20. Why do we call certain actions reflex actions? 

21. What is the origin of the term "nerve center"? 

22. What should we mean by central neurons, central sensory 
points- central motor points, peripheral points? 

Chapter 3. 

23. What is a local reaction? 

24. What is a concerted action? 

25. What distinction between causes must be made in concerted 
action? 

26. Give examples showing the relativity of the distinction be- 
tween local and concerted action. 

27. Does reference to localness of an action imply inactivity of 
the rest of the body? What does it imply? 

28. Do we mean by concertedness merely simultaneity? 

29. What did the student who wrote "Odgen" write instead of 
"lapse"? 

30. In the divisions of the bell of the jelly-fish, why is there 
little probability of much difference in frequency? 

31. As in the preceding question, why is there some probability 
of some difference in frequency? 

32. What is the disadvantage of a difference in frequency? 

33. What insures simultaneity of contraction? 

34. If the frequencies of the divisions, cut from each other, are 
16, 12, 13, 14, 15, 13, 15, 14 per minute, why is the frequency 
of the united whole not the average, 14? What is it? 

35. What, in the jelly-fish, serves as "conductor of the orchestra"? 

36. Give an example of serial action. 

37. Give an example of circular action. 

38. How w^ould you causally explain circular action? 

39. Why can the explanation of circular action not be universally 
accepted as a causal explanation of serial action? 

Chapter 4. 

40. Is unification of the animal the one chief purpose of the 
existence of a nervous system? 

41. What is the most general demand made on the architecture 
of the nervous system by concertedness of action? 



QUESTIOlSrS Al^B PROBLEMS 42§ 

42. In what respect can good conductivity from any part of an 
animal to every other be undesirable? 

43. What are the two methods used by Nature in averting the 
predicament of "too universal conductivity"? 

44. Which alone of the two methods referred to in the preceding 
question contains a constructive element valuable to the 
architect? 

45. Why is the mere reflex path formerly mentioned not suf- 
ficient to enable a moth to alight on a twig or leaf? 

46. What is the most useful diagram enabling us to represent 
short nervous connections between corresponding peripheral 
points and longer connections between non-corresponding 
points? 

47. What is the unit by which we measure (count) the resist- 
ances of various paths in the diagram of nervous architec- 
ture? 

48. How are resistance and conductivity related? 

49. What is meant by ''levels" in the nervous system? 

50. Why are we (wrongly) inclined to represent a nerve center 
by a "point" from which neurons radiate? 

51. Can excitations move thru any nervous path in either direc- 
tion? 

52. What facts of human behavior prove that excitations do not 
within the nervous system proceed toward sense organs? 

53. What relation has the "synapse" to the last two questions? 

54. How can the length of a conductor be responsible for a great 
delay of reaction, altho its length is virtually nothing in 
comparison with the velocity of the excitation? 

55. What is the relation between the explanation of serial ac- 
tivity and the question of the number of nervous levels? 

56. What is the advantage, in a diagram illustrating the last 
question, of representing "higher" nerve centers by arches 
with multiple legs rather than by radiating lines? 

57. What are the three parts of the problem solved by choosing 
for the nervous system a design of "arches over arches"? 

5-8. Compute the distribution of the flux in a nervous system dif- 
fering from that for which the computation is made in the 
text only by Ihe substitution for each of the three motor 
neurons (Mi M , Mi M, , Mi M ) of a pair of shunted 



426 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

neurons. — Answers for the peripheral neurons: in-flux 1564; 
out-flux 49 and 49, 595 and 595, 138 and 138. But give the an- 
swers also for the central neurons as in the text. 

Chapter 5. 

59. Give examples showing that the Other-One's absent-mind- 
edness is related to his just preceding occupation. 

60. What is the synapse theory of preoccupation? 

61. How may warming up be related to absent-mindedness? 
G2. What relation do lower and higher centers seem to have to 

absent-mindedness? 

63. What is the positive aspect of a failure to act? 

64. Give examples of the positive and the negative aspect of pre- 
occupation. 

65. What facts of behavior may be called competition of stimuli? 

66. What advantage does Nature obtain thru competition of 
stimuli over what would result from the law of the resultant? 

67. What physiological experiment proves the deflection of a 
weaker nervous current by a stronger one? 

68. In what respects can a neuron be compared with a storage 
battery? 

69. How does deflection differ from what the physiologists call 
inhibition? 

70. What two functional peculiarities does the usage of language 
combine under the term "instinctive" activity? 

71. Why must the ''deflection center" in an instinctive activity 
be a ''higher" center than the "overflow center," which is 
responsible for the concertedness? 

72. Why is a room painted uniformly, lacking all decorative 
features, and placed in an absolutely silent locality by no 
means the ideal school room? 

73. What are the three actual meanings of the social term "in- 
attention"? 

74. What is the cure for inattention? 

Chapter 6. 

75. What reflexes are joined, and how are they joined, in the 

candy-eating habit? 

76. In what three ways do motor functions become related (log- 
ically) in the formation of habits? 



QUESTIONS AKD PROBLEMS 427 

77. Give an example not found in the text for each class referred 
to in the previous question. 

78. What two terms are suggested in the text for the classes 
where there is not simply substitution? 

79. Does the antagonism of muscles play any role in habit forma- 
tion? 

80. What two manners of reducing the resistance of a complete 
nervous path must be strictly distinguished? Which of these 
conductivity changes establishes itself most quickly and 
which lasts longest? 

81. What three conditions are given in the text as essential for 
forming a habit replacing the motor function of one reflex 
by that of another? 

82. What function discussed in the preceding chapter gives an 
advantage to simultaneous over successive stimulation in 
habit formation? 

83. Illustrate the four meanings of "forgetting" referred to in 
the text by four stories not found in the text. 

84. What does the text mean by positive and negative suscep- 
tibility of neurons? 

85. In what ways (mentioned or not mentioned in the text) may 
''preoccupation'' corrupt a ''learning curve" or a "forgetting 
curve"? 

86. What facts make it unavoidable to distinguish a specific 
conductivity (or resistance) of certain neurons from their 
general conductivity? 

87. When do we call several stimuli similar, judging purely from 
the Other-One's motor activity, which we observe? 

88. How does "similarity" depend on "specific resistance"? 

89. How can a long path, after its resistance has been reduced, 
become shortened? 

90. How may the shortening of the nervous path corrupt the 
learning curve? 

91. Why is the difference between "persuading or tempting" and 
"training" the same as that between "willing" and "learn- 
ing"? 

92. Why do sociologists use the term "freedom'' more frequently 
than physicists? 

93. What concrete fact gives rise to the abstract term "strength 
of will"? 



428 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

94. Under what conditions could the workman mentioned in the 
text (and under what conditions could he not) "will"? 

Chapter 7. 

95. What is the origin of the term "phrenology"? 

96. Why does an animal have "ganglions"? 

97. Why does not a worm show an upper and lower series of 
ganglions as clearly as it shows a right and left series? 

98. Has a starfish one brain or five brains? 

99. What is a brain? 

100. Has a crayfish a brain? 

101. Has a fish a brain? 

102. Why has no animal its brain in the tail? 

103. When in evolution a single ganglion increases in relative 
size continuously, what is the meaning of this growth? 

104. Discuss the relative significance of three methods of com- 
paring the average brain weights of two animal groups. 

105. In the proper comparison of brain weights, how can one 
manage to get along without measuring the body surfaces? 

Chapter 8. 

106. What is the localizing reflex? 

107. What is the logical opposite of localizing on the skin? 

108. How many dimensions are there in the localizing reflexes 
of the eye and the ear? 

109. Did you find in the text an old problem which is no prob- 
lem? 

110. What is negative localization? 

111. What is the grasping reflex? 

112. In what respect does the Other-One depend on combining 
the localizing and the grasping reflexes? 

113. Enumerate the adjusting reflexes of the more conspicuous 
sense organs. 

114. When do we not, and why do we not, localize a sound thru 
the medium of the localizing reflex? What do we use in- 
stead? And what is the use of having an auditory localizing 
reflex anyway? 

115. What is the signaling reflex? 

116. What advantage has acoustical over optical signaling? 

117. Which are the muscle groups serving the Other-One's 
acoustical signaling? 



QUESTIONS AND PROBLEMS 429 

118. What muscular contractions make up the sleeping reflex? 

119. What is the stimulation in the case of the sleeping reflex? 

120. State the two causes (other than incidental fatigue of his 
nervous system) of the sleeper's failure to converse with 
you readily. 

121. Enumerate the eight forms of behavior which the text re- 
gards as fundamental and therefore inherited. 

122. What is right-sidedness, and why is it discussed in 'this 
chapter? Is it a reflex, a habit, or neither? 

123. Why is it impossible, by observing people a short time in 
their infancy, to foretell whether they will turn out right- 
sided or left-sided? 

124. Is walking an inherited concerted action? 

125. What reflex must combine itself with the habit of balancing 
• in order to develop balancing into walking? 

126. Compile a list of all the ''human instincts" which you have 
heard of or read about in literature (other than this book) and 
reduce them to the eight fundamental classes of behavior 
recognized by the text as composing the Other-One's main 
inheritance. 

127. When do we refer to reflexes as ''emotions"? 

128. Compile a list of all the "emotions" you know and reduce 
them to the eight fundamental classes of behavior plus such 
reflexes as you happen to remember even tho they are no- 
where mentioned in the text on account of being on the 
whole only of secondary interest to the psychologist. 

129. Is play a reflex? What is play? 

Chapter 9. 

130. Give a reason, other than the limitation of muscular ac- 
curacy, why Nature has established a rather large thresh- 
old of sensibility on the skin. 

131. Why is the threshold the smaller, the greater the curvature 
of the surface region? 

132. What reflex action or actions are replaced by the answer 
"Two" in cutaneous discrimination? And by the answer 
"One"? 

133. How many dimensions has cutaneous space perception? 
.134. Make plain that space perception is a species of motor con- 
densation in the nervous functioning. 

135. Why is an "illusion" like an "emotion"? 



430 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

Chapter 10. 

136. What proves the existence of Inherited visual space percep- 
tion? 

137. Demonstrate the dependence of nervous condensation on 
the size of the interval between stimulated points. 

138. How do you explain that there is no real distinction possible 
between the "substitution" and the "addition" of a new re- 
action? 

139. What habits has the Other-One with respect to angles in 
perspective? 

140. What happens when areas in the visual field compete with 
mere points? 

141. What examples can you give of two-dimensional or of 
color perceptions for which a third-dimensional localiza- 
tion is substituted? 

142. Why does the Other-One call the moon larger when it is 
near the horizon? 

143. Give examples of reflex actions (adjusting the sense organ) 
to which a localization in the third dimension is habitually 
added. 

144. Is "single vision" or "double vision" simply a matter of 
mathematical correspondence or non-correspondence of 
retinal points stimulated? 

145. Give examples of division of labor between corresponding 
retinal points. 

146. Give an example of complete co-operation of corresponding 
retinal points. 

147. Give examples of "wrestling" and of more or less com- 
promising between corresponding retinal points. 

148. What is the essential difference between the two visual 
images (both being two-dimensional space perceptions) of 
the two eyes? 

149. How do you describe in words and in a drawing the lateral 
displacement for a farther and for a nearer object in stereo- 
scopic vision? 

150. Why does fhe perception of a puzzle picture change with 
difficulty? 



QUESTIONS AND PROBLEMS 431 

Chapter 11. 

151. Why must there be two kinds of excitations to be called 
forth by the intensity of the light? Why is one kind not 
sufficient? 

152. What is the relation between a visual process and a visual 
substance? 

153. How could a second visual substance be helpful to the animal 
world? 

154. What proves that Nature, before dividing the spectrum in 
one definite point, experimented with different divisions? 

155. In what sense is every normal retina color-blind? 

156. What does it mean that the Blue excitation and the Yellow 
excitation are antagonistic? 

157. What is meant by general adaptation of the retina? 

158. What is successive induction? 

159. What is simultaneous induction? 

Chapter 12. 

160. What mistake does Nature appear to have made in creating 
the second visual substance? And how did she remedy the 
defect? 

161. It seems that Nature created the third visual substance 
somehow as God created woman. How? 

162. How are the singular and dual colors related to the four 
excitations (or visual processes) ? 

163. What singular color does not exist in the rainbow? 

164. Why are there only singular and dual, and not also plural 
colors? 

165. Why does complementariness of colors interest the psychol- 
ogist but little? 

166. Why do the primary, principal, etc., colors of technology in- 
terest the psychologist but little? 

167. How does a "flight of colors'* come about? 

Chapter 13. 

168. What is the simplest kind of auditory organ? 

169. What changes are needed in the auditory organ in conse- 
quence of leading the sound waves to the organ thru a 
tunnel? 

170. Why are the ''windows" located unsymmetrically to the 
tunnel? . 



432 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

171. What is the original purpose of the ear drum? 

172. Why are the cavity and the partition lengthened? 

173. What advantage results in pathological cases from the fact 
that the ear can function in more prirnitive and more ad- 
vanced ways simultaneously? 

Chapter 14. 

174. What must happen to the stream of air exhaled in order to 
produce density changes directly, or to cause a solid body 
to vibrate and in turn produce the density changes? 

175. What makes weak and irregular density changes strong 
and regular? 

176. Which two may be said, generalizingly, to be the places 
where the stream of air is easily obstructed? 

177. In what sense, and why, does great obstruction in the 
mouth preclude the production of "voiced" sounds? 

178. What do we call speech during which the larynx never ob- 
structs the stream of air? 

179. Of what use in sound production is the mouth, and every- 
thing connected with it, aside from obstructing the passage 
of the air? 

180. If whispering is one extrerne, what is the other? 

181. What is a syllable? . 

182. Are the consonants consonants and the vowels vowels in 
all languages? 

183. Give examples showing how natural economy, laziness, and 
excitedness may influence the pronunciation. 

184. What can be said about individuality in speaking? 

185. Imitativeness is not a reflex, but — ? 

186. Are there inherited kinesthetic, olfactory, or gustatory im- 
itative actions? 

187. Are there inherited visual or auditory imitative actions? 

188. How do auditory and other imitations change during life? 

189. How is ''serial activity" illustrated in speech? 

190. Do the localizing, and the sound signaling reflexes seem to 
be related? 

191. What may happen when one speaks an unaccented lan- 
guage? 



QUESTIONS AND PROBLEMS 433 

Chapter 15. 

192. What do we mean, in psychology, when we call repeated 
motions rhythmical? 

193. What used to be the chief argument for the belief that 
grouping in action was inherited? 

194. What do you think of another person's "rhythm" when 
you hear him counting? 

195. What habits of ''rhythm" are rarely acquired? And why 
is that so? 

196. By what procedure can an odd group most easrly be de- 
veloped from an even group? 

197. Why is rhythm the most wonderful — perhaps the only true 
— example of transference of training? 

198. What differences may be noted of the rhythm in dancing, 
poetry, music and prose? 

199. Do laborers sing in order to make their work rhythmical? 

Chapter 16. 

200. What is generalizing as a bodily function of the Other- 
One? 

201. What is the value of abstractions to the Other-One? 

202. In what ways are generalization and abstraction aided by 
the invention of script? 

203. What entirely new vocation is made possible as soon as 
generalization and abstraction have become established in 
the human race? 

204. Give examples of special importance showing that, and to 
what extent, the progress of science depends on generaliza- 
tion and abstraction. 

205. Is the acquisition of generalizations and abstractions dif- 
ferent from the acquisition of other habits? 

206. What is speculation? 

Chapter 17. 

207. Why are schools for deaf-born children more indispensable 
than schools for blind-born children? [ 

208. What superstition existed in fornler centuries concerning 
deaf-born people? 

209. What is the history of the education of the deaf? 

210. Do_ animals think? 



434 PSYCHOLOGY OF THE OTHER-ONE 

211. What corresponds in scientific psychology to the popular 
opposition of the mental and the physical in habits? 

212. How does the education proceed of those who are born 
both blind and deaf? 

213. What justifies our calling sight and hearing the higher 
senses? 

Chapter 18. 

214. Why is the literal meaning of ''somnambulism" a misunder- 
standing of ''sleep"? 

215. In what respects are the actions of Lady Macbeth unusual? 

216. Give examples of life histories demonstrating that abnormal 
preoccupation is not restricted to the functions of a par- 
ticular high nerve center. 

217. What does the transferability or transmutability of hysterical 
symptoms prove with respect to the question just hinted at 
(under 216) and with respect to deflection? 

218. What proves that abnormal preoccupation does not readily 
extend to the functions of the lower centers? 

219. What are the two fortunate indirect consequences of the 
freedom of reflexes from preoccupation? 

220. Give various reasons for the wrong belief that hystericals 
are fond of telling lies? 

221. How is hypnotism related to somnambulism? 

222. What is personality? 

223. Make a list of the anatomical and physiological conditions 
of a normal functioning of the human nervous system. 
Then derive from it a list of all possible abnormalities. 

Chapter 19. 

224. What is the wrong and the right meaning of a materialistic 
conception of history? 

225. What is the speculative and the scientific conception of 
criminology? 

226. What has kept sociology from submerging in speculation? 

227. What is a psychology of religion? 

228. Why is it unnecessary to define psychology? 

Chapter 20. 

229. Why would a general knowledge of modern psychology 
have prevented the cruelties of religious persecutions? 



QUESTIONS AND PROBLEMS 



435 



230. Why would a general knowledge of modern psychology 
prevent international atrocities? 

231. Why would a general knowledge of modern psychology 
save people from the craving for hypnotism and similar 
phenomena? 

232. Why would a general knowledge of modern psychology 
have prevented the cruelties of the criminal law. 

233. What is human society and how does it concern the psy- 
chologist? 



INDEX 



Absent-mindedness, aee pre- 
occupation. 

Abstraction 357-369, 371, 388. 

Adaptation 274, 275, 278, 
289-291. 

Adjusting the sense organs 
187-195, 215, 243. 

Afferent 47. 

After-images 290, 291. 

Anatomy 8. 

Anesthesia 390, 391. 

Anger 214, 215. 

Angles 232, 235, 238. 

Animals 6, 371, 380, 421. 

Antagonistic colors 272, 276, 
278, 279, 283, 287, 289- 

Antagonistic muscles 122. 

Arches 44. 

Aristotle 226, 227. 

Art 215, 414. 

Attention 101, 114-117. 

Auditory excitations 301, 307. 

Automatic action 143. 

Binocular vision 245, 251, 260. 

Bird 164. 

Blind 371, 379. 

Blind spot 246. 

Blood 275. 

Bonet 375, 376. 

Bonnier 303. 

Brain 152, 156-161, 163, 167. 

Brain weight 169. 

Centers 47-49. 



Centers, functional differences 
of low and high, 95, 113, 126, 

388. 
Cerebrum 163-167. 
Check valves 76-77. 
Chemistry 138. 
Circular action 63. 
Cold colors 271. 
Color blindness 270, 271, 287. 
Color etymology 284.* 
Color pyramid 286. 
Color zones 272, 286. 
Competition of stimuli 99-102, 

106. 
Complementary colors 287. 
Computation of nervous flux 

86. 
Concerted action 50-66, 329. 
Condensation 120, 225. 
Conditioned reflex 119. 
Conductivity 16, 17, 70, 72, 74, 

80, 87, 125, 130, 135, 136. 
Consonants 319, 320. 
Contractility 16. 
Cortex 25. 
Crayfish 160, 161. 
Criminology 403, 419-421. 
Current, nervous, 108, 135. 
Dancing 349, 351, 352. 
Deaf 296, 311, 370-379. 
Deflection 103-106, 110, 114, 

117, 397. 
De TEpee 374, 377. 



(436) 



IISTDEX 



437 



Demented 397. 
Democracy 402. 
Depth 240, 244, 256. 
Descartes 4. 
Differentiation 15, 17, 134, 

136. 
Dimensions of space 182, 183, 

222, 223, 240, 244, 256. 
Discrimination 219, 221, 234- 
Distribution of flux in the , 

nervous system 85. 
Dual Colors, 283, 284. 
Dumb 372-379. 
Ear 293, 295, 297, 308-312. 
Earthworm 154-157. 
Economics 403, 407. 
Economy in speech 320. 
Effectors 47. 
Efferent 47. 
Emotion 211-215, 226. 
Engines 6. 
Epilepsy 398. 
Esthetic emotion 215. 
Evolution 168. 
Excitation 14, 17, 28-31, 107, 

290. 
Eye 246, 262. 
Eye ball 179. 
Fatigue 201. 
Fighting 196, 197. 
Fish 161. 

Flight of colors 291. 
Forgetting 132-134. 
Freedom 147, 148. 
Frog 163. 
Gall 152. 
Ganglion 155-157. 
Ganglion cell 20, 23, 26. 
Generalization 356-369, 371. 



Gesticulation 333. 
Genius 117, 174. 
Glands 14, 47. 
Government 10, 412. 
Grasping 186. 
Gray matter 24. 
Growth 6, 7. 

Habit 167, 168, 388, 395. 
Habit formation 123, 127, 

130, 396. 
Hering 272, 276, 278. 
High and low centers, see 

centers. 
High and low creatures 7. 
High and low senses 379, 

380. 
History 401. 
Horopter 250. 
Hunger 12, 402. 
Hypnotism 393, 394, 409, 415- 

418. 
Hysteria 384-393, 397. 
Idiocy 395, 396. 
Illusion 226, 227, 231, 291, 

292, 350. 
Imagination 232. 
Imitation 323-329. 
Inattention 116-117. 
Induction 274-278, 289, 291. 
Inhibition 109-110. 
Innervation 79. 
Instinct 110, 114, 176, 210, 

395. 
Integration 67, 158. 
Intellect 372, 373, 377-380, 

397. 

Intelligence 168-175. 
Janet 384, 393. 
Jelly-fish 56-61, 68-72. 



438 



INDEX 



Jespersen 321. 

Joy 214, 215. 

Kinesthetic 148. 

Labor and rhythm 351-353. 

Language 7, 322, 323, 372, 

377, 378. 
Larynx 314, 316, 319, 321. 
Learning 124, 131, 145, 396, 

398. 
Levels of connection 74, 75, 

78. 
Local action 50-66, 71. 
Localizing 177-186, 193-195, 

198, 216, 219, 331. 
Locomotion 11, 12. 
Magnetism, animal 415, 416. 
Marriage 9. 
Materialism 405, 406. 
Measuring 3. 
Mechanics 366-368. 
Memory 378. 
Moth 38, 39. 
Motor condensation 120, 225, 

231, 236, 238. 
Motor points 42. 
Mouth 315-318, 321, 323. 
Mueller 405. 
Muscles 14, 47. 
Muscles sense 61, 63, 148, 

149. 
Music 137, 138, 346, 348, 

349, 351. 
Naming 219. 

Nationality 322, 323, 333. 
Negative localization 185, 198. 
Negative response 96-98. 
Nerve cell 18, 20. 
Nervous system 36, 69, 73, 75, 

81-84, 394-398. 



Neurons 18-27. 

Neurosis 381, 383, 384. 

Obstacle 27, 33. 

Overflow 113, 114. 

Paralysis 386, 387, 389, 390. 

Paranoia 398. 

Perception 219-227. 

Periodic motion 39, 40. 

Peripheral points 49. 

Personality 394, 397, 398. 

Phrenology 151, 152, 169. 

Physiology 8, 421. 

Plants 6. 

Play 215. 

Poetry 346, 348, 350, 351. 

Ponce 374, 377. 

Preoccupation 94, 115, 117, 

125, 134, 201, 383, 384, 

388, 393, 394. 
Primary colors 288, 289. 
Punishment 10, 419. 
Puzzle pictures 260. 
Qualitative 369. 
Quantitative 369. 
Reaction time 45, 46. 
Receptors 47. 
Reflex 45, 50, 176, 388. 
Reflex arches 47, 48, 73. 
Religion 5, 404, 406, 410, 414. 
Repetition 131. 
Resistance 16, 70, 72, 74, 80, 

87, 125, 126, 130, 135, 136. 
Responses 14, 15. 
Resultant of stimuli 100, 102. 
Retinal co-operation 245-256. 
Rhythm 335. 

Rhythmical motion 39, 40. 
Right-handedness 203-205, 

332. 



INDEX 



439 



Schools 10, 372. 

Script 354, 362, 371, 377. 

Self 3, 4. 

Sensitivity 15, 16. 

Sensory condensation 121. 

Sensory points 42. 

Serial action 62, 78-80, 85, 

330. 
Sex 169-174, 196. 
Short-circuiting 142. 
Signaling 195-200, 293, 331. 
Similarity 136-138. 
Singular colors 283, 284. 
Sleep 96, 116, 200-202, 382. 
Snail 28-36. 
Social 196. 
Sociology 8-10, 404. 
Somnambulism 381, 382, 386 

393. 
Song 318, 352, 353. 
Sorrow 212-214. 
Soul 3-5, 373, 382, 394, 399, 

406, 411, 414, 421, 422. 
Sound 294, 304, 308. 
Space perception 219-227, 229, 

231. 
Specific excitation 111. 
Specific resistance 134-138, 

301. 
Spectrum 265, 278, 279-283. 
Speech 321, 322, 361, 371, 

377. 
Speech organs 199, 200. 
Starfish 159. 
Stereoscopic vision 245, 256. 



Stimulus 13, 14, 290. 
Stumpf 138. 
Susceptibility 130-133. 
Syllables 320. 
Synapse 78, 81, 93, 95, 125, 

130, 134, 145, 383, 384, 386, 

388, 393, 397. 
Synergies 138. 
Temperament 333. 
Temptation 146. 
Ter Kuile 311, 312. 
Thoughtfulness 7, 371-373, 

378, 380. 

Threshold 217-219, 221. 
Transference of training 338. 
Turning 28-36. 
Uexkuell 102. 
Visual excitations 264, 265, 
272, 278-284, 291. 

Vocal cords 316. 
Vocal organs 199, 200. 
Voiced sounds 316. 
Voiceless sounds 316. 
Vowels 319, 320. 
Wakefulness 202. 
Walking 205-210. 
Warm colors 271. 
Warming up 94, 131. 
Wasted reflexes 195, 212, 

215, 226, 227. 
Whisper 316, 317. 
Will 6, 7, 145-150, 398. 
Woman 169-174. 
Worm 145-157. 



